


Thursday

by babehyun



Category: Kpop - Fandom, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4848125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babehyun/pseuds/babehyun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimin's sad. Yoongi's obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

It happened on a Thursday in January. Jimin could only vaguely remember the night. It was dark and snowy, the windshield wipers struggled to keep the glass clear, and bits of ice hammered against the hood of the car, concealing the sound of soft music.Taehyung was driving that night, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he sung softly to the song that played. 

Jimin felt the impact before he saw it happen. The car was struck from the left side, sending it spinning and skidding on the wet pavement. The car tumbled over into the central barrier before coming to an absolute stop. Silence; it scared Jimin more than the pain in his left arm. Shouldn't Taehyung be moaning or calling out? Taehyung tried to move but he was pinned by the collapsing roof and the steering column. His neck was bent at a sickly angle and blood dripped down from his temple. Jimin hadn’t realized he had hit his head either until the warm liquid had gushed down his forehead and into his eyes. His arm was crushed beneath metal and through the blood he could make out flashing blue and red lights. Sirens were the last thing he heard, before the pain inundated him; sending him into oblivion. 

He woke up a day later in the ICU. A machine beeped next to him, reassuring him that he did indeed survive. An IV trailed from his arm to a clear bag that hung near his bed. Jimin’s left arm ached. He must have broken it, because a cast was wrapped around his forearm and ended right above his elbow. The room reeked of bleach and disinfectant, a lazy attempt at covering the stench of sickness that was strong and rang out clear against the pure whiteness of the hospital.  
Jimin was lucky, the crash could have killed him, would have if he was in the driver’s seat. He knew Taehyung didn’t make it. The moment he woke up and found himself alone, he knew the impact was fatal. Jimin didn’t cry, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that any of this was real.  
Jimin lay in the curtained cubicle, examining the polystyrene tiled ceiling. There was nothing else to look at apart from the curtains. The green curtains, that looked like they had never been washed, still crisp and bright against the cream walls of the hospital room. Jimin could hear groans coming from the adjacent bed and that at least made him glad for the curtains, it meant he didn’t have to engage with whoever is was, to show any sympathy he didn’t feel. To give some lucky bastard — who still got to cling to their miserable life — false hope, when all of his hope was running thin. 

The door opened and a nurse walked in, her glasses set on the tip of her nose as she read something on a clipboard. She stopped in front of Jimin’s bed, looking up and pushing her wireframes further up her nose. 

“Park Jimin?” She asked. He nodded, pain shot up the back of his neck and he winced.

“Will you be okay enough to walk with me to the morgue. We need someone to identify the b—” Jimin put up a hand to stop her from continuing,he didn’t want to hear the word body. He couldn’t believe that was all that Taehyung was anymore. 

“I’ll be okay.” He said, his voice came out quiet and muffled, and he worried that she didn’t hear him. The woman looked at her clipboard again.

“I’ll bring a wheelchair to take you.” She said, rushing out of the room. Jimin tired to prepare himself, but the woman was back quickly with a wheelchair. She helped him into the chair, his skin ached when she touched him, like he was bruised all over, and Jimin suddenly realized how hard it was going to be to hold up his head. 

Jimin tried not to look at the people behind the other curtains as he passed, but he found it quite difficult not to. One of the old men locked eyes with him, his face was blotchy and red and a breathing tube hung out of his mouth. Jimin snapped his head back to the front. He let out a cry of pain and held his neck. The nurse stopped,

“Are you okay? We don’t have to do this right now sweetie.” She said, scanning his face for any sign of hesitance. 

“I’ll get it over with.” He said, his voice came out shaky and it startled him. 

“If at any point you feel like you’re not ready for this, let me know.” She said, patting his shoulder lightly. It took everything in him not to flinch away. He didn’t need her sympathy. 

The hospital was quiet and cold, goosebumps rose on Jimin’s arms. The bright fluorescent lights spotted Jimin’s vision and made his head pound even more than it already was. A janitor walked past them. His cart rattling against the white tiles, the smell of bleach lingering not far behind. 

The woman stopped in front of the steel doors of an elevator and pressed the down button. Jimin heard the cogs whirring as it lifted the box onto their current floor, his heart raced. The woman pushed him inside and calmly pressed the basement floor. Jimin sealed his eyes shut, his hands gripped the armrests of the wheelchair, his knuckles turning white.

“Are you okay?” She asked again. 

“How do you think I feel about being in a moving metal box right now.” He said dryly. The woman opened her mouth to speak, but quickly turned towards the elevator doors, her eyes flicking towards the red numbers above the door.

“It’s almost over.” She mumbled, trying to reassure him. She was right. 

Before he knew it, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Cold was the only word to describe the underground floor. “Better to keep the dead bodies.” A cynical voice said in the back of Jimin’s mind. The woman was going painfully fast for Jimin, the cream colored walls began to blur as they sped past them. Jimin found himself holding on tighter than before, his stomach lurching. Something like a wave rushes over Jimin and his body screams at him to say something. To say he’s not ready, that he can’t look at Taehyung’s dead body, that he needs to rest and that this can wait; but he doesn’t, and before Jimin can say stop, the nurse was pushing open the door to the morgue.

Jimin didn’t think it could get colder, damn was he wrong. The paper gown did nothing to keep him warm and Jimin could have sworn every hair on his body was standing up. The nurse talked to the man who sat in a desk, but Jimin had begun to tune everything out, rather, he focused on his breathing when he noticed he was starting to hyperventilate. 

“Right through here.” The man said, standing up to lead Jimin and the nurse through another set of double doors. The room was bright with large white tiles. The left wall was metal and had small square doors lined in even rows. Jimin bit his lip. 

His eyes fell on a figure on a table in the middle of the room, a white cloth was draped over it. His heart, drenched by fear, did not throb any longer. Everything was fading into an abyss.

“Sir?” The man called out. Jimin looked up at him, his eyes slightly glazed over with unfallen tears, “We need you to identify the body.” The man reaches to remove the covering, and Jimin raises a hand. 

“I just need to see one thing.” Jimin says weakly. He pushes the wheelchair towards the table, his hands shaking violently, and slowly reaches towards the figure. He lifts the cloth just above where Taehyung’s hand should be. Tears spilled from Jimin’s eyes onto his cheeks and he emitted a strange sort of sound when his fingers found Taehyung’s right hand. The hand was stiff and strikingly cold, Jimin lifted it, and moved the cloth so that it was visible. Taehyung’s hand was a sickly pale color, and Jimin let out a strangled sob. 

“It’s him. It’s Kim Taehyung.” Jimin choked out, as his eyes fall on the silver ring on Taehyung’s fourth finger. Inscribed with the words “Forever Park Jimin’s” 

 

~

It happened on a Thursday. Min Yoongi sat in the revolving chair behind his desk, lazily flipping through files and paperwork. His office was cold and dark, how he usually liked it, and was barren of any sort of decorations. Yoongi wasn’t the type to waste time picking out paint samples and couch cushions, to appease the wealthy middle aged couples that would later sit in his office. There was a simple bookshelf behind his desk, filled and overflowing with psychology books and poetry. The only thing that hung on his wall was his framed degree and he didn’t even want to hang that. 

His door swung open and two heels clicked on the wood floor towards Yoongi’s desk. He knew who it was and didn’t bother to look up.

“Dr. Min?” The woman asked, placing her hands on her hips. Yoongi looked up at the office secretary. If looks could kill, she would have wilted in front of him.

“I didn’t knock did I?” She muttered, dropping her hands and avoiding his cold stare. Yoongi raised an eyebrow and sighed. He let the papers in his hand drop and turned to his computer.

“What do you need?” The baritone of his voice echoed throughout the office and if Yoongi hadn’t made it abundantly clear before, the secretary would have had no problem locking the door and bending over his desk. 

“I scheduled an appointment for today, four o'clock.” She said, bracing herself for what she knew was to come.

“Today? Didn’t I tell you to make sure to schedule every appointment a week in advance?” Yoongi bellowed. If he was glaring before, than this was something far more evil. His jaw was clenched and the secretary could read the anger all over his face.

“I’m sorry, but this guy, he needed the appointment for today. He sounded so desperate. I’m sorry Dr. Yoongi.” She murmured. Yoongi let out a long breathy sigh and waved a hand for her to leave.

“Fine. Just please don’t do it again.” He ordered. The woman nodded but didn’t leave, her eyes darted around the room.

“What?” He berated. She opened her mouth to say something, debating.

“I just noticed you don’t have any pictures of your family.” She wondered, avoiding Yoongi’s stare. He rolled his eyes, and looked back down at the files in front of him.

“They’re all dead.” He said through closed teeth.

“Oh. I’m sorry I asked. I’ll go now.” The woman whispered, leaving in a rush. Her shoes clacked against the hardwood floors and became a muffled tap as she closed the doors behind her. 

Yoongi looked down, releasing his hand that he hadn’t noticed was crumpling the paper in front of him. He took a deep breath, straightening it out again, taking only a millisecond to compose himself. 

~

He sat back in the plastic chair and prepared to be patronized by a simpering middle aged woman with no dress sense. Jimin could picture her now, a little plump, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and coffee. Smiling at him like some insipid aunt who only tolerates you because you're related. Of course she would sit in the plush rotating chair opposite with a clipboard and a pen, pretending to be listening while she's thinking about what to have for lunch. He inwardly groaned and shifted in his seat as the door creaked open. Out stepped a young man who could have leaped straight from the pages of some Dior advertisement. Jimin sat up, this counseling session was going to be interesting after all.

“Park Jimin.” The man called out, although he was the only one sitting in the waiting room. 

“That’s me.” Jimin sighed, standing up and walking into what seemed to be an office. The man rounded the desk, and Jimin took the opportunity to take him all in. He wore black pants that seemed a little too tight to be worn in an office, and a black blazer was thrown lazily over a white shirt, wrinkles adorning its surface. His locks were a caramel brown — obviously not his real hair color Jimin noted — and was messily tousled. He seemed young, too young to have a doctorate. Jimin’s eyes wandered from his degree on the wall back to the man who was looking down at a paper. Most probably Jimin’s information, Jimin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

“I’m Dr. Min.” He said, extending a hand over the table and firmly grasping Jimin’s. He smiled awkwardly and Dr.Min didn’t return the gesture, “I normally do couples counseling, so forgive me if I mess anything up.” He said curtly.

“I’m sorry about that, a friend of mine actually scheduled the appointment for me.” Jimin sighed. Dr. Min nodded, writing something down. 

“So you didn’t want to make the appointment? Do you think you don’t need counseling?” Dr.Min asked, raising his eyebrows and staring at Jimin, awaiting his response. Jimin hesitated, what kind of counselor was he, his voice was so berating and cold, weren’t they supposed to be reassuring?

“No, I don’t really think I do.” Jimin said bluntly. Dr.Min nodded, Jimin could see his foot tapping restlessly under the desk. 

“Why does your friend think you do?”

“Is this an interrogation?” Jimin snarled, leaning back in the plastic lined couch. Dr.Min chuckled, clicked his pen, and set it down on the table. He leaned forward onto his elbows.

“Do you not understand how this works? I ask you questions to get you to open up, and you tell me how you feel so I can refer you to someone to prescribe you some pills.” Dr.Min  
answered, not holding back. Jimin was too awestruck to say anything.

“Now, why are you here.” Dr.Min asked. 

“Because my fucking fiance died and my friends think I’m depressed, and I can’t bring myself to go into our bedroom, and I can’t go to his grave, and I haven’t talked to his family, and I’ve been losing weight, and I hate going to work, and my life fucking sucks. That’s why I’m here!” Jimin yelled. Dr.Min nodded, and scribbled something onto his paper. The corners of his mouth lifting into a slight smile.

“Why are you smiling?” Jimin demanded, smoldering under his stone expression. 

“Because that’s how it’s done. There’s a reason I’m good at my job.” He started, pulling out a pink slip of paper and writing down something, “You’re depressed, take this to the address on the card and they can prescribe you the right type of antidepressants.” Dr.Min droned, like he had said the same thing so many times before. He stood up and stretched the slip of paper towards Jimin. 

“That’s it? You right me off so I can just get drugged up? How is that going to make anything better, how am I gonna forget everything that happened with a happy little pill?” Jimin hissed, his eyes full of disgust for the —attractive and really well-dressed— man in front of him. Dr.Min sighed and sat down again, drumming his fingers on the desk, that sly smile back on his stupid face.

“You said you did not want to be here. So I’m letting you leave. What else do you want?” Dr.Min raised an eyebrow and settled into his plush, revolving chair. His voice was deep, almost as deep as Taehyung’s, and Jimin swore he could feel the echo of Dr.Min’s voice at the base of his spine.

“I want it to be better. I don’t want medication. I want to be able to live without him and be...okay.” Jimin mumbled, his eyes filling with tears. Dr.Min nodded, he had always been extremely uncomfortable when clients cried in front of him, although it was part of his job. He didn’t try to reassure him, just watched as Jimin sniffled there. 

“What was his name?” Dr.Min questioned, making note of Jimin’s reactions and body language. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

“How did he die.” 

“We were driving, it was snowing and some asshole ran straight into our car.” Jimin struggled to get the words out, the memories of the night had become clearer since the day he woke up in the hospital. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Dr.Min said. Jimin faltered, was that sympathy? 

“We were on our way to his parents house. To tell them we were getting married.” Jimin murmured, wiping his face of tears. Dr.Min didn’t say anything, didn’t write anything down, just sat there staring. The careless facade fluttering away like birds. 

“How did this situation make you feel?” Dr.Min mumbled quickly, words, that always came so easily to him, were fleeting. 

A shrill ring startled the two of them and Dr.Min scrambled to turn off the alarm on his phone. Had it been 30 minutes already? 

“That’s all the time we have for today, I’m sorry.” Dr.Min said, avoiding Jimin’s eyes, “Next Thursday?” He asked. Jimin nodded. 

“Yeah, next Thursday.” Jimin muttered, getting up and thanking Dr.Min. He left in a rush, not even bothering to shrug his coat back onto his shoulders. 

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, raking a hand through his messy hair and letting out a deep breath. He cursed under his breath and looked down at what he had wrote.  
Park Jimin. Depressed. Really fucking cute. 

Yoongi crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the waste basket next to his desk. Everything in his office was neat and organized, maybe to a fault. The pens and pencils were separated and lined up neatly on his desk and in the desk drawer was a box of envelopes and his appointment book. He pulled out the leather bound book and jot down Jimin’s name in the slot for Thursday’s appointments. 

Yoongi smiled slightly at the way Jimin’s name looked scribbled in his messy handwriting. He shook his head, trying to throw away the thoughts he had, before slamming the book closed and tucking it neatly into the drawer. 

~

“Jimin.” Somebody muttered. Jimin groaned, turning over on the couch and opening his eyes. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his eyes bright and wide.

Taehyung stood in front of him, blood dripping down his face and neck. Jimin felt his stomach turn and a vile taste climbed up the back of his throat.

“Why did you leave me there Jimin.” Taehyung’s deep voice was husky and he pushed out the words in short, uneven patterns. He shuffled towards Jimin, and Jimin recoiled into the couch. He felt as if his lungs were slowly filling with water, as if there was just less space in them for the air. Inflating them felt like pushing up a lead weight on his chest. Jimin sucked in the air as if it were treacle, yet he was sitting in his living room with the air conditioning on. Why couldn't he breathe? Why was it so hard?

Jimin could see snow falling from the window, sunlight illuminating Taehyung’s face through the foggy glass. Was it still January? 

“Jimin. Please. Talk to me.” Taehyung moaned, shuffling forward again. Jimin noticed blood dripping from his fingertips and soaking into his white carpet. Jimin followed the trail of the thick, crimson liquid from his fingers , up his arm, and to his shoulder. His arm hung limp - Jimin could taste bile again - and something sharp and white jutted out of his skin. 

Jimin leaned off of the couch and retched onto the floor. There was another lurch in his stomach and he fell onto the white rug, doubled over and puking. He looked up, the room was dark and spinning. Empty.

Jimin cried as if his brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of his every pore. From his mouth came a cry so raw and shaky that it startled him. He grabbed onto the couch so that his violent shaking would not cause him to fall into the pool of his own vomit. The whole world had vanished for him, now there was only pain enough to break him, pain enough to change him beyond recognition. He cried as if the ferocity of it might bring Taehyung back; as if by the sheer force of his grief the deed could be undone. 

He's losing his mind again. He can feel it unraveling, the threads of every happy memory he could ever once recall, all but a disarray of strings scattered about his feet. His sharp knees dig into the carpet, his hands unsteady as they silently moved from the couch to his hair, grabbing tufts of it in his fist. He opens his mouth, but not a sound comes out, his head violently quivering as if there is a drill to the back of his skull. His eyes see nothing; they have lost all sight of what is and what could have been. His upper body and shoulders wrack with every sob that forces their way out, chest rising and falling unevenly as he gasps for breath, and he squeezes his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists each time he tries to force a sound out. 

The darkness swirled around his curled form, tendrils of inkling bleak reminders of his solitude. The silence echoing in his ears was the constant white noise that never shut up. Jimin’s head swam in the fire burning inside, the only smouldering embers of a time where there had been other presences with him, around him, in him. But now, the void had been slowly filled with a cold, howling storm of fear that refused to ever let up. Jimin was completely and utterly alone in his mind, body, and soul. 

It was dark outside. Jimin could see rain spotting the window in his living room. The air condition blew cold and Jimin realized it was June again. 

This had been happening for months since the accident. Taehyung appearing in front of him. Jimin was never sure if it was a dream or just vivid hallucinations that wracked his every waking hour. When he needs to be lucid and clear his brain begs for unconsciousness, for sleep at any price. But come the hours of darkness in the comfort of his home, Jimin’s mind lights up with new possibilities, new sources of disaster and danger. He wants to let them go, to count sheep and relax, but soon the sheep were telling him what can go wrong tomorrow, and he’s doing anything he can to keep his eyes open. Anything he can to keep Taehyung from standing in front of him and saying the same thing he did every time. Anything he can to keep from tasting bile again. Jimin had stopped eating, what was the point if his food never stayed down. 

Jimin rolled onto his back, the tears had stopped flowing, albeit his breathing was still labored and his lungs felt like two deflating balloons in his chest. 

The door to his bedroom was cracked open and Jimin stared towards the white door. The darkness seeping out of the room like frigid water on an icy tide. Back and forth, each time coming a bit closer, pulsing like a swollen beast. 

Jimin wiped his nose on the back of his hand, and sat up onto his knees. He shuffled towards the door. It needed to be closed, Jimin couldn’t stand to look at what was inside. Pictures of Taehyung, their bed, every memory of every late night they shared was taunting him. Jimin inched closer and closer to the door, reaching out with his fingertips. He could feel a cold draft floating out from the cracked door and the gentle sound of something humming. 

“T-Taehyung?” Jimin whimpered, pushing the door open with such force that it banged against the opposite wall. A small fan whirred on the bedside table and Jimin sighed in relief, he walked across the room, his feet sinking into the area rug of his bedroom, and turned it off. His eyes glanced over his bed. The blankets were bunched up and lay messily on the bed, it had never been made since the accident, and a picture sat up on the bedside table of Jimin and Taehyung. They were younger, Taehyung’s hair was long and his arm was thrown around Jimin’s shoulder. His smile was big and bright, they were both happy. 

His lip quivered and he carefully laid the frame down on it’s face. Jimin sighed and sank into his bed, pulling the covers up to his nose. They smelled like him, like Kim Taehyung. 

He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists. Anger boiled inside of him. Taehyung didn’t deserve this. Once he had been the boy that held his hand on the way to swings, squealing with delight and demanding to be pushed higher. He had been generous with his smiles and free with his hugs, and Jimin had spent 4 amazing years reveling in the feeling that Taehyung gave him. Happiness. 

Now the thought of him was tearing Jimin open from the inside, clawing at his heart and lungs, seeking to destroy him completely. Jimin let out a wail, his fists lashing out feverishly, knocking over everything it touched. Everything that had been sitting on the bedside table was knocked to the ground. The lamp was smashed into thousands of glittering shards, the picture frame going along with it. 

Jimin was done with grief, all that was boiling inside of him was anger. It was brewing like water in a kettle and the whistle had just sounded. 

Jimin slammed his fist into the wall of his apartment, a hole the size of his hand remained. There he stood, with a throbbing fist and emotion he couldn’t articulate. What else was there to do but to feel angry and thrash around. Jimin sunk to the floor, wary of the glass, and put his head in his hands. 

Adrenaline and blinding rage still coursed through his bloodstream, his heartbeat echoed in his ears like a steel drum, but Jimin no longer had the energy to do anything except crawl into bed. 

For the first time in 6 months, he laid in the sheets that were never changed. Still smelling of sex and Taehyung. Jimin let himself cry again, as he did every night going to sleep. It was the only way to get his eyes to close. He pulled the blankets up to his nose again, his eyes becoming heavy. Darkness swirled around him and finally grabbed hold, pulling Jimin into oblivion.

~

“Dr.Min, I don’t think these sessions are helping me.” Jimin griped, sitting back in his seat with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Yoongi sighed.

“Things don’t become better overnight Jimin. It takes time and a lot of healing to make things okay again. You must also remember, that things may never be back to the way things were.” Yoongi explained. Jimin looked down, his thick lashes tangling with the bottom ones. 

Yoongi cursed himself every time he saw Park Jimin. He knew the regulations and repercussions of developing feelings for a patient, and made every effort to keep his feelings mutual; but every time Jimin unraveled himself in front of Yoongi, he found it harder and harder to stay sane. He could drink in Jimin’s words like a strong wine and enjoy feeling tipsy. Yoongi watched him like he had the stars in the palm of his hands and soft petals at his feet. He wanted to wrap Jimin in his arms and never let go. 

“Dr.Min, are you listening?” Jimin sighed. Yoongi blinked and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I blanked out. Can you repeat that.” 

“I said, If things never go back to how they were, how can they become better.” 

“There’s a point in your life when you’ll become okay with what happened, and you can begin to find happiness in things you didn’t have before. I’m not saying there’s anything or anyone to replace Taehyung… but there are always opportunities to make new memories and find happiness within those.” Yoongi stumbled over his words. He let his muscles relax when he saw the corners of Jimin’s lips lift into a slight smile. A smile that just seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness. An unexpected warmth rushes through Yoongi. 

“I think you’re right.” Jimin nods but there’s a sad glint in his eyes. Yoongi wishes he could grasp his Jimin’s face and kiss the tears away. Tell him that he’s perfect and doesn’t deserve anything he’s been put through, but before Yoongi can run with his thoughts, the alarm is ringing and another session comes to an end. 

Yoongi watches as he leaves, hoping his cheeks aren’t a bright red. Yoongi lays his head on his cold desk and tries to wipe away all thoughts of Park Jimin.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn. He's got to go first thing, before dawn, Yoongi thought, or Jimin'll be the death of him.

“Leaving was always the plan.” Jimin murmured. Yoongi leaned forward onto his elbow.

“Why? Why did you want to leave so bad and why haven’t you now?” Yoongi asked. As he had been listening, he forgot that he was actually supposed to writing things down.

“It was just… how we always envisioned our life to be. Backpacking around Europe, busking to make money, experiencing new cultures and tasting new food and being happy; but now, I can’t see myself leaving without him. I can’t bring myself to leave him here.” Jimin choked out. Yoongi looked down at the grooves in his desk and the wood that was plentifully bestrewn with rings of stained coffee.

It was now the seventh week of their sessions and Yoongi found it hard to sit in the seat across from Park Jimin. Jimin had all the build of a man but none of the bulk. There were muscles under his shirt, but not the bulky kind men can get from years of weightlifting. From behind he could be anywhere in his late teens to early twenties, but when he turned that face was all boy. He was lit up with that grin boys wear when they have something mischievous planned, but sadness weighed heavy on his eyes and was tangled into the length of his lashes. His sandy hair flopped over his forehead in the way no office worker could get away with and on his wrist were bracelets made of woven strings that a middle schooler could be seen wearing. Yoongi dragged his gaze away from Jimin’s soft looking hands and back to his eyes, trying to focus on the job at hand.

“Tell me more about the hallucinations you mentioned before.” Jimin sighed, the plastic lining of the couch squeaked as he fidgeted nervously.

“It’s… It was just… I see him in my dreams, or nightmares, or what I think are dreams… I can never tell. It seems so real, and he’s there, and he’s covered in blood, how he was in the accident. I just can’t get that image out of my head.” Jimin bit the inside of his lip and Yoongi scribbled something onto the paper.

“Have you been considering what I mentioned last appointment.” Yoongi looked up from his clipboard.

“I have… I just don’t know.” 

“It might seem frightening for you since it’s something you’ve never done before, but honestly it has helped a lot of my clients, and I truly think it could help you.” Yoongi reached into his drawer and pulled out a prescription slip.

“I still want to think about it.” Jimin whispered, a lump had gathered in his throat. 

“I understand.” Yoongi sighed, staring up at the clock above Jimin’s head, “I think that’s all the time we have for today.” Jimin nodded and stood up, his eyes glued to the floor.

“I’ll see you next Thursday Jimin. Think about it okay?” Yoongi said, sincerity laced in his baritone voice. Jimin nodded and left, the door closing with a soft click behind him. The sound of his footsteps slowly disappearing behind Yoongi’s office door and down the steps towards the busy street

It was dark now, the sun was beginning to set and the sky was a hazy purple. Yoongi’s office was in the middle of the city ,amongst the hustle and bustle of pubs and restaurants. Jimin found himself walking towards a bar that was huddled between two large buildings, almost unnoticeable. 

The tavern was alive with the jangle of voices and Jimin tore his eyes away from the couples in the secluded corners of the room. He approached the bar counter. Along the wall was every amber hue in their inverted bottles, and Jimin hesitantly got the bartender’s attention, asking for a rum and coke because that was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

The people at the bar beside him laughed and slapped each other's backs, their cheeks pink and their stained teeth creeping out of their smiles. Jimin sipped his drink slowly, closing his eyes and trying to tune out the sounds around him. Before he knew it, his lips were touching ice and his glass felt light. This time he asked for a shot. 

He drinks in silence, hoping that answers lie at the bottom of the glass and then the bottom of the bottle and then the next bottle and the next. And so the night drags on. No words exchanged except between him and the bartender, each one becoming more and more slurred. His chest felt warm and his brain was rattling like someone had put it in a bottle and shook it - a bottle full of liquid that stung and seeped into every fiber of his being. 

Jimin had never been a drinker, a beer here, a toast with Taehyung, something to take the load off after a long week. So this feeling was all but familiar to Jimin. His eyelids felt heavy and he didn’t know he was feeling sleepy until his head hit the wet counter.

~

Yoongi saw him the moment he came in. Slumped against the counter, an empty glass in his fist. He chuckled to himself and took a seat at the bar next to him. Jimin’s face was red and he slept with his face squished against a coaster. The woman who worked at the bar walked over - who looked older than she probably was, her thick hips swaying- to wake him. 

“It’s okay. He’s with me.” Yoongi said to the woman.

“Anything for you then sir?” She had a drawl to her voice that Yoongi couldn’t place and lips colored with a tacky red lipstick. 

“No thanks.” Yoongi replied, shaking Jimin awake.

“Jimin, let me take you home.” 

Jimin lifted his head, a lazy smile on his face.

“Oh, doctor. You found me!” He laughed, nudging his arm. Yoongi grimaced, and slung Jimin’s arm around his shoulder.

“Come on Park Jimin, you need to rest.” Yoongi cooed, leading him to the door. Luckily Yoongi’s apartment was on the floor above his office and he wouldn’t have to take Jimin far. Jimin mumbled incoherent things as they walked towards his apartment, and Yoongi fought the urge to drop him in the street and run. Yoongi hated touching.

After about 20 agonizing minutes, he reached the top of the staircase and quickly typed in his passcode. Yoongi dropped Jimin onto his couch, which was still wrapped in it’s plastic lining, and rummaged through his linen closet, searching for an old duvet for Jimin to lay on, just in case he ended up puking in his sleep. Yoongi didn’t want to think about what he would do if that happened. 

It took a lot of coaxing and dragging to get Jimin to lay down on the blanket, but finally Jimin seemed to be drifting off to sleep and Yoongi retreated to his room, rubbing his temples and sinking into his bed. 

Yoongi opened his briefcase, pulling out Jimin’s file. Jimin looks really good today, was scribbled onto his paper. Yoongi shook his head and closed it, he lied down and turning towards his window that overlooked the street. The sounds of car horns blaring and drunkards yelling lulled him to sleep, like it did every night. 

~

Yoongi awoke with Jimin’s arms wound around his neck and a leg thrown over his stomach. Jimin breathed softly in Yoongi’s face, the smell of alcohol strong. Yoongi know he should find it adorable but he liked his space so he gently peeled him off and took him back to the duvet he had laid out in the other room. Yoongi had never really been much of a hugger and never even liked teddy bears as a kid. It was never really an issue of germs or touching, just the lack of personal space made Yoongi want to deck somebody.

Yoongi crawled back into his bedding and thought of how he got into this situation, how he ever thought taking his client home - his client who had begun to be so tempting. 

Then comes the patter of feet again and this time Jimin's shaking, his eyes half open and a drunken cry lingered on Jimin’s bottom lip. Yoongi guesses he's had a pretty bad day by anyone's standards, a pretty bad year to be honest. This time he lets him stay but Yoongi turns him the other way around so he isn't breathing on him. It wasn’t out of sympathy, Yoongi just really didn’t want to hear him cry. 

After only minutes Jimin’s snuffles settle to a steady rhythm. Yoongi’s almost drifting off himself when Jimin giggles in his sleep. Damn. He's got to go first thing, before dawn, Yoongi thought, or Jimin'll be the death of him.

~

The sun woke Jimin. It glared at him through the uncovered window and Jimin lifted the blanket over his head, which ached like an axe was planted in it. Jimin was more aware of his cracking headache than the layer of dehydrated saliva that coated his cracked lips. This feeling meant he must have had a lot to drink the night before but somehow it wasn't there in his memory.

The only thing on his mind at the moment was the smell of something frying in a pan. 

Jimin jolted upright. His head pounding. Who was cooking? Jimin looked around, he was in a room barren of color and decoration. The white walls looked like they were spinning. There was a desk in the corner of the room - which looked like it had never been used - and tall bookshelf next to it, filled to the brim with novels which seemed to be color coded. 

Jimin stood up. Once on his feet the room swayed almost causing him to lose balance and he reached out for the wall. His hand slipped along the high sheen paint and he sprawled onto the carpet with a crashing thump. The room swirled before becoming stationary again and he used the bedstead to pull himself to standing. Where the fuck am I? He thought to himself, opening the door of the bedroom with a shaky hand.

The sound of clanking dishes and water running became louder and the ringing in his ears heightened. The living room was like a perfect magazine cover. Jimin was afraid to walk over the white carpet, in case his feet were dirty. The couch was cream but inlaid with a fine green silk; leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but he know they took hundreds of hours to sew. The white curtains are linen, the kind of white that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows Jimin the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. There is no television, no bookshelf, no dining table, only the chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. 

“Good morning.” A voice sounds from the kitchen that made Jimin jump. 

Dr.Min stood in the kitchen, a pan of bacon in his hand. The smell was intoxicating and Jimin stumbled forward.

“I hope you like eggs and bacon, I can make toast too.” Yoongi rambled, rubbing the back of his neck. Yoongi had lived alone since he was 17, and as a 24 year old, he wasn’t used to having guests in his house.

“That’s great. Thank you Dr.M-”

“Yoongi. Call me Yoongi.You are in my house after all.” 

“I really don’t remember how I got here.” Jimin chuckled awkwardly, taking a seat at the long bar that overlooked Yoongi’s big kitchen. The entire house looked unlived in, the spotlessness was uncanny. It was as if Yoongi had never made a mess in his life and despite him cooking breakfast, the stove and counters were still spotless.

Yoongi placed the eggs and bacon on a plate for Jimin and replied, “You were passed out drunk in a bar down the street from my office. I saw you there and figured it wouldn’t be best to send you home in a cab.” Yoongi avoided Jimin’s eyes and compulsively wiped at the already clean counters. 

“Thank you. Really. You’ve already done so much for me Dr.M- I mean, Yoongi.” Jimin mumbled. Yoongi shrugged. He was wearing a white t-shirt over black shorts. Jimin had never seen him out of the usual black blazer. The shirt hung loose on his small frame and his milky white skin practically disappeared into his shirt. 

“It’s fine. Although, I’m not used to having guests, as you can probably tell.” Yoongi chuckled, gesturing to his living room furniture that was still covered in plastic and probably still had the tag hanging on the back. Jimin smiled and stared down at his plate, shoveling food in his mouth to defeat the now awkward silence. 

“I’m sure your hangover is hell.” Yoongi laughed. Jimin was surprised by his tone. Yoongi’s speech was usually dripping with articulance, and the word - that was hardly a curse word - sounded weird coming out of his mouth. 

Jimin scoffed and shrugged, “I’ve had worse nights.” 

Yoongi pursed his lips, finally setting down the rag he had been using to clean the counters. 

“We should get coffee, that might clear your head.” Yoongi offered as Jimin put the last piece of bacon in his mouth, “I would make you some now, but I’ve coincidentally run out.” Jimin swallowed the last bit of his food. It was blander than he would have liked, but he was grateful that Yoongi tried.

“Sure that sounds nice.” Jimin smiled and raised his arms to stretch. He grimaced at his own smell - a mix of sweat and alcohol - that was dripping from his pores. 

“Oh. Pardon me, you can use my shower if you want, and I’m sure I have some clothes that will fit you.” Yoongi offered with a placid smile. Jimin nodded and followed Yoongi to the spotless bathroom - which was not surprising. 

Yoongi showed him how to work his shower and gave him a towel and a folded pair of shorts and a black t-shirt. Jimin washed up quickly and pulled on the clothes. The shorts were too small, and felt tight around Jimin’s muscular thighs, he opted to wear his jeans from yesterday. The shirt smelled of cologne that was weirdly familiar. Curiosity getting the better of him, he opened the medicine cabinet above the porcelain sink. There was a toothbrush, toothpaste and a bright orange medicine bottle. Jimin picked it up, the label read _“Min Yoongi, Fluoxetine, Antidepressant, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” _Jimin put it down, he shouldn’t be doing this, but he continued and picked up the cologne bottle which read “Armani Code” on the side.__

That was the cologne Taehyung used. Jimin laughed and tried to put it exactly where he had found it. He shook his head,“Thanks Universe for fucking with me.” Jimin lifted Yoongi’s shirt to his nose, the smell was so Taehyung-like that a shiver ran down Jimin’s spine.

“Are you almost done?” Jimin nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden knock at the door.

“Yeah!” He exclaimed, opening the door.Yoongi was standing near the door, a jacket was now wrapped around his shoulder. He got better the more Jimin looked. His rich chocolate hair that had tousled griminess which promised finesse. He had soft brows and eyelashes so thick, it could be illegal. And then his eyes- they were deep and catastrophic, a dark brown that Jimin could have easily fell into and drowned. This close,Jimin could see the flecks of pink in his cheeks. He had distinct cheekbones and an angular jaw, his pale skin made him look devilishly handsome.

“Let’s go then.” Yoongi smiled, but Jimin could tell he was growing impatient. Yoongi glanced down at Jimin’s legs, his pants hugging his thick thighs, “I’m guessing the shorts didn’t fit.” Yoongi chuckled. 

Jimin shrugged, “Let’s just say they were a bit too tight.” 

Yoongi nodded, peeling his eyes away from his muscular legs, and led Jimin out of the front door, turning to lock it behind them. Jimin glanced around, there was a long empty corridor that led to a staircase. They walked down it in silence, passing by the door to Yoongi's office. Yoongi swung open the screen of the building and the warm summer air hit Jimin's face, hard and fast. The sun beamed into his eyes and Jimin squinted towards the sky, his arm instinctively shot up to shield his eyes. Yoongi hardly flinched, as if he spends months in the sun. Jimin wasn't too sure, given his pale complexion.

"There's a coffee shop this way." Yoongi said. The city was quite empty for a Friday, and Jimin decided it was because of the heat. He followed Yoongi quietly, his eyes glued to the back of Yoongi's ankles. 

When they arrived at the cafe, Jimin was glad for the loud environment. The cafe was full of people talking and the cacophony of voices and clinking mugs made Jimin feel more comfortable. 

"I've been meaning to ask you," Yoongi turned to Jimin as they stood in line to order. "Who scheduled your appointment with me if it wasn't you." 

"A friend of mine, Jungkook." Jimin replied. He was surprised Yoongi remembered, or maybe it was just Jimin losing track of time again. 

Yoongi stepped up to the counter and ordered for the two of them when Jimin shrugged after being asked what he wanted. Jimin eyes lingered on the length of Yoongi's sharp jaw and the way it moved when he talked. Yoongi's voice was deep, not as deep as Taehyung’s, but almost there. Jimin shook his head, he needed to stop comparing the two.

"Are you okay? I understand this is awkward but you're really quiet..." Yoongi trailed off, his arm propped on the edge of the counter as he waited for his barista to make the 2 iced coffees. 

"I'm... I'm fine. I just haven't really been with people since the accident. I keep to myself most days." Jimin avoided Yoongi’s eyes, and rubbed at the spot right above his elbow - it still ached although they've already taken off his cast. It was like he could still feel the weight of metal crushing his forearm. Jimin wondered what Taehyung felt in that moment, how much did it hurt?

"You should get out more often, it helps," Yoongi said, taking the drinks once his name was called, and sitting at a small table in the corner. Jimin rolled his eyes, this wasn't a therapy session.

"Enough about me. What about you, you seem like you have everything together but I can tell you don't." Jimin blurted out, remembering the pill bottle he saw in Yoongi’s bathroom. Yoongi raised a brow and took a long sip of his iced coffee.

"I don't, but there’s not much to me. I live alone, I go to work, and I read. Simple life." He answered, his eyes glued to Jimin’s. 

"No family?" 

Jimin noticed his shoulders tense and realized he had probably said the wrong thing. 

"My parents are dead, and my brother ... I don't speak to him much." Yoongi replied bitterly. Jimin knew with all the common sense he had to drop it, but he didn't. He wanted to be the one asking the questions for once, peeling Yoongi apart so he could watch him fall. 

"How did they die." This time Jimin wasn't the one to look away. 

"They were murdered." Yoongi stared down at the ice in his drink, keeping his eyes on them as if he was waiting for them to melt. His brow furrowed as if the ice was the most intricate thing he'd ever seen. 

"What about your brother."

"Please, just don't." Yoongi murmured, avoiding Jimin’s lurid glare. Jimin nodded and took a sip from his coffee, finally taking the cue to leave the situation alone. 

The table was silent for a while and Jimin couldn't get the Armani Code out of his nose. The smell reminded him so much of Taehyung, his child-like innocence and his now incarcerated soul. What was Taehyung doing now, was he next to him? Was he somewhere further, transcending the world as Jimin knew it. Had Taehyung forgot about him entirely?

Jimin stared at Yoongi's hands. His long fingers were grasped around his cell phone and he scrolled absent-mindedly. Jimin sighed.

"Maybe I should see Jungkook." He muttered. Yoongi looked up, clicking his phone off. 

"Did he know Taehyung?" 

Jimin winced at the name. It didn't sound right coming from Yoongi.

"He did. Jungkook actually introduced us." 

Yoongi nodded. In the safety of his office, Yoongi always knew what to say. Yoongi was a writer at heart with no inspiration and no drive. He could speak like poems were swimming in his veins and words came out of his mouth as if they had been tattooed on his skin for years - where he could learn them and study them and speak them with just as much power. But they weren't, and he just collected words and phrases from many books and many poems, shifting them so they fit perfectly between his lips and sounded oh-so-soothing in his deep voice. His secretary would always coo "you just have a way with words don't ya' " 

But somehow with Jimin it was different.

His confidence would ebb and when he opened his mouth to speak, the right words never came out. Jimin did something to Yoongi. Yoongi described it as riding a roller-coaster. Your stomach would be filled with gooey cotton candy and sweet things, but after that long drop, you'd feel that familiar lurch in the pit of your gut, and the sweet things no longer tasted sweet but were acid on your tongue.

"I better get going. Thanks for everything Yoongi." Jimin stood up.

"Let me call you a cab-"

"I'll be fine. My building isn't far from here actually. Plus, I could use the fresh air." Jimin winked and turned in the balls of his heels. He was out the door before Yoongi could utter another word. 

Yoongi watched as he walked down the sidewalk, and kept watching until he was a black dot against the azure sky. 

~

Yoongi shuffled through the stack of mail on his desk. He tossed aside advertisements and pamphlets and put bills and letters in a neat stack. 

At the bottom of the pile was a light blue envelope that only read "To Yoongi" on the front. Yoongi flipped it around, searching for a return address. There was nothing but the neat cursive writing in the front.

He tore it open curiously and out fell a picture and a folded piece of paper. He decided to read the letter first. It read, 

_"Dear Brother,_  
_I haven't talked to you in a while and I apologize. Life has been hectic. I have a good job, a beautiful girlfriend, and a house. Things are looking up._  
_I miss you though. When the trial ended, I thought we would become closer but I was wrong. I only pushed you further away._  
_Please call me sometime. 770xxxxxx. _  
_Love, Jin"___

Yoongi's hands were shaking now. His eyes glazed over with premature tears. He picked up the picture. It was an old polaroid of Yoongi and his older brother Jin from about 8 years ago. 

Yoongi stuffed everything back into the envelope and pushed away from the desk. He rushed out of his office, his secretary looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Who dropped this off?" He exclaimed, holding up the bright envelope. 

"Some guy... he was tall, had broad shoulders. A cute guy really, with brown hair and a kind smile." The secretary said with a dreamy gleam in his eyes. That was him, Yoongi knew it.

"Did he say anything?" Yoongi's voice wavered, his hands shaking more and more. 

"He just said to make sure you got it." She said. Yoongi's eyes wandering around the room. That's when he noticed him.

Sitting in the waiting room. His legs crossed, thighs round, eyebrows knit together, and glazed eyes locked on Yoongi. 

Yoongi wiped at his tear-stained face. 

"You're early." Yoongi laughed. 

"Wanna get out of here and talk?" Jimin offered, hesitance dancing on his tongue. 

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

The secretary watched warily, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Yoongi grabbed his jacket and followed Jimin out of his office and into the mid-summer heat.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin tried, tried so desperately to understand why his heart was jumping rope in his chest. Yoongi had just pulled him out, Jimin concluded. He pulled him out of the murky water and air was finding it’s way into Jimin’s lungs again. Yoongi saved him.

Jimin loved the outdoors and so did Taehyung.

Once, two years ago, Jimin and Taehyung went camping in the countryside. It was in the middle of fall and golden leaves sparkled around them like a 14 carat shower had just enlightened the chilly forest. Mother nature surely had the midas touch and the forest was the epitome of decadence. The spiny trees clung to the last of their orange leaves and the river that flowed throughout the woods was icy to the touch.

They spent weeks pricking their fingers on fishing hooks and swatting away unnaturally large mosquitoes. They ate sausages and marshmallows that they roasted over a small flame, reveling in the taste of burnt crispy edges and warmth.

Taehyung brought a gun. For safety he said. 

It was an old .22 long rifle that was a gift from Taehyung’s father. It was used for hunting and Taehyung insisted on bringing it, in case of mountain lions or bears. Jimin argued that neither of those animals lived in the area but Taehyung brought it anyways.

On the last few days of the trip, the two men sat by the lake. Their breath rising in visible grey plumes and Jimin’s head resting on Taehyung's lap.  
He held the hunting rifle in his hands, flipping the bullet case open and closed, sliding the bullets out and back in. He brought his eye up to the scope multiple times, looking at the trees for something to point at.

"Put that down Taehyung. You're gonna shoot yourself." Jimin exclaimed while toying with the invisible strand of fishing line that he had somehow tied in a knot around his fingers. 

"I know how to use a gun Jiminie. See-" 

The shot rang throughout the forest. Jimin's ears buzzed like an electric saw and he sat up abruptly. 

"What the fuck Tae!" He yells, pushing the other boy over who has a square boyish smile plastered on his face. 

"Come here." Taehyung says, hand still clenched around the barrel of the rifle. He grasps Jimin's hand in his free one and takes off running into the direction of where he shot. 

"Taehyung what are you doing!" Jimin yelped, laughs echoing off the trees. He took in as much air as he could through his burning lungs. His legs ached as they bounced off the grassy floor and low branches swiped at his skin.

"Look. I'm a pretty good shot right." Taehyung said, as he slowed to a stop. Jimin looked down at the limp body of a small finch.

His face fell.

Its wings were curled around itself, trying to shield it's new wound from the elements. It's legs twitched and blood made its feathers stick together in thick brown clumps.

"Why would you do that!" Jimin screamed, pushing Taehyung. He stumbled backwards in surprise. Jimin felt tears in his eyes and wiped them away quickly. Why was he being such a baby? It was just a bird. He tried to convince himself.

"Jimin... I'm sorry. I didn't know you...would freak out like this." Taehyung muttered, dropping the rifle. It clanked loudly against the dirt floor and the bird flinched, its chest rising and falling in a rigid pattern. 

"Now it's suffering." Jimin mumbled, trying not to let another tear fall. Trying to not seem weak.

"Just look away Jimin." 

Ever since, Jimin didn't like going outside. It was as if that shot effected the way he saw the world, like mother nature may come swooping down at him next. Jimin had come to the conclusion that maybe this was all a sick game. That karma was as real as ever and Taehyung was finally hit with the ricochet. The sound of the bird's neck cracking, it's strangled mewl, Taehyung saying sorry, over and over. It never left him. The trees reminded him of birds chirping, birds dying. The outdoors were never safe. 

But here he was. Sitting outside in the park with Dr.Min Yoongi.

The park was nothing like those of the smaller towns. Theirs were miniature formal gardens for the elderly that had retired there for the quiet life. They had benches, ornamental trees, flowers year round and water fountains in clear lakes that were stocked with Koi carp. Quiet sidewalks, the occasional bark of dog or a kid playing. The sound of gentle water flowing into the communal lake and wind whistling through tall pines. 

But not here. Not in the big town. Here a park meant acres of concrete interspersed with neat grass verges. There were rollerblading tracks, tennis courts, basketball courts, dirty fountains and skateboard ramps. There are vendors with hotdogs and burgers, vendors with curry and rice, vendors with tacos and sour cream. There's always music, sometimes clashing from various sources, none of them official. It didn't have colour from roses or asters, but it is more vibrant than any planned garden. 

Jimin and Yoongi sat spaced apart on a metal bench. The steel digging into Jimin’s bare legs that peeked out of his jean shorts. Yoongi stared at one spot above Jimin’s collarbone, his smooth skin was bright and sunlight bounced off of him in rainbow patterns. 

Jimin turned abruptly when he felt Yoongi's eyes on him. Yoongi didn't look away, but made a handshake with Jimin's eyes, awkward and fumbling. 

"My brother wrote to me." Yoongi blurted out. 

"Oh." Jimin said resigned. 

"I know you don't understand, I just needed to tell someone. This is probably extremely unprofessional" Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his auburn hair. 

Jimin looked tired. There were blotches of purple pooling beneath his eyes, and his cheekbones looked deeper than usual. Yoongi's eyes had begun to look similar, but the dark hues were more defined against his pale skin and his face lacked the usual glow it had. 

"He wants to see me but I'm not sure if I want to see him." 

"Why not."

Yoongi chuckled slightly, his fists clenched around his knee caps.

"We have incredibly deep family issues." 

Jimin nodded, acid made it's way up Jimin's throat and he wanted desperately to run.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you any of this." Yoongi said in a rushed breath. 

Jimin scoffed, compared to the many things he had revealed to Dr.Min, Yoongi hadn’t told him anything.

"Well this meeting is hardly professional." Jimin replied, gesturing to the bustling park. Yoongi shrugged. 

"Thanks Jimin." 

The words caught Jimim by surprise. Since when was Yoongi at the mercy of his favor? 

"N-no problem." Jimin avoided Yoongi's eyes which hadn't moved from Jimin's face. His deep brown eyes were burning holes in Jimin’s cheeks, or was that the blood rushing into his face?

"Have you been eating? " Yoongi said abruptly. Jimin toyed with the yarn bracelets knotted around his wrist and wondered if they had cut off Taehyung’s when he was laid to rest. 

"Not really." 

"Let's go then." Yoongi said standing. His thoughtless gaze glued to his face, but Jimin knew better. He knew there were probably a million things swimming through Yoongi's mind. For his own was drowning and suddenly Jimin felt hungry. 

"I know a good place." 

"Lead the way."

The muscle memory took Jimin there. He no longer had to look at street signs or spot landmarks to find the restaurant of distant memories. It was called The Grind, a small diner that served the best fries and burgers, not to mention the milkshakes. 

The familiar ring sounded above the door as the two men entered. 

"Welcome to the Gr- Jimin!?" 

Jimin provided a weak smile as the man behind the voice rounded the counter and attacked him with a hug.

"Long time no see Jungkook." 

The boy was tall, he towered over Jimin and Yoongi. He looked young but his sharp jawline and wide shoulders contradicted his boyish smile.

"Yoongi this is Jungkook." Jimin introduced the two. Yoongi nodded and shook his hand. 

"Yoongi, that sounds familiar... have we met?" Jungkook asked.

"Uh, I'm Jimin's psychiatrist." Yoongi replied, his eyes trying to focus on anything but Jungkook or Jimin's expectant expression. 

"So you're the famous Min Yoongi. Sit, I'll get you both milkshakes."

The more Jungkook talked, Yoongi noticed his tone change, becoming more comfortable. Questioning. Yoongi knew all too well Jungkook's frame of mind. It came from years of buried noses in psychology books and years of practice but Yoongi could read people like an open book. Jungkook's eyebrows knit together as he stole a glance at Yoongi and Yoongi could tell he wasn't as welcoming as he seemed. Jungkook’s mind was spinning, why was Jimin with his psychiatrist?

"Jungkook is Taehyung’s cousin.” Jimin murmured under his breath. 

“W-What?” Yoongi sputtered, suddenly fidgety. He had never once been so involved in a patient’s life. He had always been so content living in his little bubble, seeing patients for 30 minutes a week, never knowing what happened behind closed doors. 

He liked it that way.

He was never concerned about their future, Yoongi surely wasn’t hopeful. Half the time, his patients were middle-aged, middle-class, and mildly attractive. They would lament to them about their spouses who cheated, or their money plights. Yoongi prescribed an antidepressant here and there, never once did he become attached.

That is until he met Jimin.

The pain in the boy’s eyes was as raw as he had ever seen. Jimin was an infant, callow and selfish, undeserving of pain and mistreatment; still waiting for the world to show him the ropes. 

Yoongi fell in love with the way Jimin disentangled himself in front of him. The way the sadness slightly wavered from his face when Yoongi spoke. Yoongi reveled in the feeling of Jimin’s smile, knowing that he put that smile on his adorably cute face made Yoongi want to ingrain the imagine into his brain. To always be the cause of Jimin’s smile, to kiss his lips and feel the smile against his own. To save Jimin from the world that had only sought to destroy him. 

Yoongi focused on the lack of smile on Jimin’s face as he sat across from him. He hadn’t even noticed Jungkook sit down with 2 milkshakes nor did he pay attention to the conversation that was happening. 

“What do you say Yoongi? Tag along?” 

Yoongi glanced up from the completely full chocolate milkshake, his eyes bouncing from Jungkook to Jimin. Jimin’s eyes were wide and his face was somber.

“I’m sorry. I - I spaced out for a second. Where is it that you’re going?” Yoongi stuttered, struggling to keep his composure. 

“Taehyung’s grave.” 

~

The pain in Jimin’s side grew as he walked up the hill. Each step taking his legs higher and the pain increased. It had been a while since Jimin exercised. His once toned stomach was now flat and soft, and his arms that were now slender had lost the bulk of his previous muscle. 

Yoongi and Jungkook followed shortly behind, having less of a problem walking up the hill. Jungkook's eyes glued to each headstone they passed. He knew how Jimin would react, and Jungkook was glad Yoongi would be here to take the weight of Jimin’s fall. 

"It's this way." Jungkook said, "You've never been right?" He passed Jimin and led him down the right side of the hill, his eyes still trying to read each tombstone as he passed. Jungkook took a long labored breath, taking in all the ghosts that were swarming around them. 

"Here he is." Jungkook sighed, stopping in front of a square, marble-esque headstone. It read "In loving memory of Kim Taehyung, our son, brother, and friend."

Jimin stared down at the stone slab. His face unfaltering, and his hands balled into tight fists. 

The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by his long intakes of the damp summer air. Tears began to spill from his helpless eyes onto the newly growing grass. His gaze fell from bloom to bloom. In that moment the sure knowledge that life would go on without Taehyung, that time was only stopped for him, undid him completely. All pretence of quiet coping was lost and Jimin sank into the damp earth not caring about the water that quickly soaked his pants to the skin. 

"I can't watch this." Jungkook mumbled , turning away from Jimin. Jungkook grieved his cousin for weeks, but was used to loss. Jungkook had lost his mother at a young age and Jungkook knew death was a part of life. Jimin took it a lot worse than he did. 

"Jimin." Yoongi whispered, squatting beside him and placing a hand on his back. Jimin’s shoulders rise and fell violently, his face was swollen and red. 

"It's not fair. I should be there with him." Jimin said in between labored hufs of air. Yoongi took Jimin by the shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh. Jimin squeezed his eyes shut as Yoongi turned Jimin towards him. 

"Don't say that. Neither of you deserved what you were given. Taehyung didn't and neither do you." 

“But I - Why did I survive and he didn’t? We were happy, we were finally happy.” Jimin sobbed. Yoongi loosened his grip on his shoulders, his hands dropping to grasp one of Jimin’s. 

“I know. The world is a fucking monster. There’s never a rhyme or reason to the madness. He didn’t deserve that and neither do you.” He repeated. Deserve. When did that word become so vital to his vocabulary. It made Yoongi think of his brother. 

"Yoongi..." Jimin whispered, engulfing the smaller man in a hug. Yoongi was taken aback but reluctantly wrapped his arms around him. Jimin rested his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and Yoongi ran a shaky hand down Jimin’s back, trying to soothe the younger boy. 

Jimin looked up at him and lost himself in Yoongi’s eyes. Yoongi’s grip on his hand was painful but the pain felt good when his entire body was numb. Yoongi’s dark eyes spoke to Jimin, but in a different language. Jimin tried, tried so desperately to understand why his heart was jumping rope in his chest. Yoongi had just pulled him out, Jimin concluded. He pulled him out of the murky water and air was finding it’s way into Jimin’s lungs again. Yoongi saved him. 

"I'm so sorry this happened to you." Yoongi whispered into his hair. Jungkook watched from afar, the skin between his brows knotted in confusion. He approached the two of them. 

"We should go." Jungkook said bluntly, eyeing Yoongi. Yoongi nodded and helped Jimin up. Jimin rubbed at his nose and wiped his face free of tears. His knees were soaked with water from the damp grass and his face was red and blotchy. 

Jungkook grabbed Yoongi's arm and pulled him back. 

"What's going on with you and Jimin." He whispered only loud enough for Yoongi to hear. 

"Nothing. " Yoongi said, pulling his arm from Jungkook's grasp. Jungkook scoffed. 

"I know what you're doing. He just lost his fiance. You need to back off." Jungkook said through clenched teeth. Yoongi scoffed. 

“He’s my patient.” The world hardly escaped his mouth, “I’m just looking out for his well being. He’s severely depressed and you know that. I’ll do anything in my will power so that I don’t see him in a hospital or worse.” He spoke as if he had done this many times before, as if his sympathy was given out on a daily basis. If only Jungkook knew how fickle this really was, how unattached Yoongi was with his emotions, how graceless it was for Yoongi to soothe Jimin in the way his mother would have soothed him. 

“You’re lying.” 

“You’re observant.” 

Jungkook turned to Jimin who was making his way down the hill and ran to catch up with him. 

“You alright?” 

Jimin nodded. 

“I’m better now.” Jimin smiled, his cheeks were red and Jungkook decided it wasn’t because of the crying. 

Jungkook huffed in disbelief and tried not to look back at Yoongi, knowing how smug he’d be. 

_~_

Jimin sighed at the emptiness of his apartment. The air conditioner was off and the air was inert and suffocating. 

Jimin’s eyes flickered over to a plain white tee slung over the back of a chair. Yoongi’s shirt. Jimin takes it in his hands reluctantly, the soft cotton was worn as if Yoongi had worn the shirt millions of times. 

He could smell the cologne, thick and suffocating. A slice of Taehyung that was aching and teasing. 

Jimin smelled the cold cotton. The smell of Taehyung - no, It was Yoongi’s smell. It was intoxicating and Jimin could imagine Yoongi raising this very white shirt over his head. Swift and elegant, just like him. 

Jimin gently folded it up, taking time to crease the edges and make it perfect. He would give it back to Yoongi at their next appointment on Thursday. 

Yoongi had begun to overrun Jimin’s thoughts. The man had Jimin’s utmost respect and Jimin couldn’t tell what the feelings meant. 

Jimin wanted so desperately to cling to what was left of Taehyung. The memories of Taehyung’s hand curled around his. His hands were always bigger than Jimin’s and made Jimin feel safe. Taehyung was home in the greatest sense of the word. Warm, full of happiness, and always there for him to return to. Now the house was burned down and Taehyung’s hands were slowly letting Jimin go. 

Jimin looked down at his hand, wanted desperately to be in someone’s arms, holding someone’s hand again. He needed someone to tell him it was alright, that there was always a home he could go to. He plopped down on his sofa and pulled the covers high over his head. He didn’t cry. Jimin was done crying.  
He thought about Yoongi, wondering why Yoongi was always so kind when the first time they had met he was everything but, why he was trying so desperately to help Jimin, to save Jimin. 

Jimin fell asleep with thoughts of Dr. Min Yoongi and woke up next to Taehyung. 

His arms were wrapped around Jimin’s torso, his bare chest against Jimin’s back. Taehyung's fingers were laced between Jimin’s and the smell of Taehyung’s shampoo was loud and strong. 

Jimin turned over to face him, a hand raising to brush a strand of hair from Taehyung’s face. 

Something red caught Jimin’s eye. A thread was tied around Jimin’s index finger, bright and red. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the string pulled at his finger. The thread was being held taught by something. 

Jimin looked down at Taehyung’s hand, nothing. 

Taehyung woke up before Jimin could leave, his hand reaching towards Jimin. 

"You're awake." Taehyung smiled, trying to pull Jimin back to bed. Jimin opened his mouth to say something but looked away. Taehyung stood up, wrapping his arms around Jimin's shoulders and kissing the nape of Jimin’s neck. 

"Taehyung-" Jimin murmured, his eyes wet with unfallen tears. Taehyung’s arms dropped after sensing the apprehension in Jimin’s voice. 

“What is it?” His voice vibrated through Jimin’s being, and Jimin figured this might be the last time he felt it. 

“I guess it’s time to say goodbye.” Jimin chuckled, gesturing to the red string danced with anticipation. 

“Oh.” Was all Taehyung said. 

“I’m- I’m sorry Taehyung.” Jimin sputtered. He told himself to stop crying, why was it so hard to keep the faucets in his eyes from running. Taehyung lifted his lips into a weak smile, trying to stay strong for Jimin’s sake. 

“Everyone has to say goodbye eventually. I understand.” Taehyung stammered 

_Jimin didn’t understand._

“Everyone has to say goodbye.” Taehyung repeated. 

_Jimin didn’t want to say goodbye._

“I understand.” 

_Jimin didn’t understand. He never would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')  
> umm so the angst is letting up a bit. thankfully right? hah wrong it'll get worse as this progresses. oops sorry. also someone might or might not have predicted what was going to happen ha. ha. ha.... TT


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood and stuff, abuse mention, alcohol mention :^|

Yoongi took a slow sip of water. The hum of voices and glasses of the pub melded with his consciousness, creating a gentle buzz. Yoongi didn’t drink, but he always found himself sitting in the bar near his office. The crowd intoxicated him and his thoughts were flying in circles like birds, slow and agonizing, around him.

The letter in his pocket felt heavy and it was like the weight of Jin’s words were pulling him down into the blue. 

Yoongi often felt depressed, his toes always dipping dangerously into the murky water that always threatened to swallow him. The medication did help, but there were always times when it crept up on him and engulfed him in it’s thick waves.

There’s nothing tragically beautiful about depression. It's not sad songs and poetry, shy glances or drowning in the bath. It's not ghostly white skin tainted by charcoal circles under sad eyes and large purple bruises stretching viciously up your arms. It isn't lonely walks, vacant coffee shops or smoking dusty cigarettes.

Depression is unwashed clothes and flaking skin. It's over eating and the inability to even get out of bed. It's giving up on yourself and not taking pride in your appearance anymore. It's empty inboxes, bursts of anger and late night tears. It's a feeling of disgust within yourself that makes you want to tear off your own skin just so you can feel clean. It's uncertainty and confusion. It's losing weight, long showers and greasy hair. It's constantly wishing you could be somewhere or someone else. It's losing the will to even live.

Depression is not tragically beautiful, it's just tragic.

Yoongi knew this all too well and he knew Jimin knew this too. 

His fingers reached into his pockets, fumbling as he unfolded the folded piece of paper. Jin’s perfect script was scrawled on the stationary. 

Jin always had the nicest hands, large, powerful, and made to create. Jin was an artist, pencils and pens just fit so nicely in his hands. Yoongi would joke and say he looked nothing like the portraits Jin made of him, albeit Yoongi still kept them all in a folder in his desk with Jin’s signature written perfectly in the corner. 

The last time he saw a pen in Jin’s hand was when he signed for Yoongi’s emancipation. 

Regret stinging Jin’s eyes as he looked at Yoongi one last time.

“Yoongi, you don’t have to do this.” Jin mumbled. 

“I do Seokjin. I don’t want to see you after this.” Yoongi said crossing his arms. Yoongi was only 17, an awkward teenager. He was just finishing high school when his parents were murdered. 

No, Yoongi can’t think about this. Not again. He spent years trying to get Jin out of his life and he wasn’t going to waltz back in with a single letter that he couldn’t even deliver to Yoongi himself. 

Jin used to be his best friend, his biggest role model, but he ruined it all on that one Thursday night during the winter of 2010. 

Yoongi pushed his earbuds into his ears. His parents were fighting again. The arguing came through the walls louder than he would have liked and he heard every painful detail. His dad was drunk again, his mom had found out about his affair, the sound of a glass breaking rang out and Yoongi tried desperately to focus on the music.

Yoongi heard Jin’s voice rising above theirs and a loud crash soon followed. His hands were shaking as he slowly removed his headphones. The yelling had stopped and he heard the sound of someone sobbing. 

Yoongi’s father was never abusive, to his children at least. 

He was an alcoholic. Years of alcohol abuse had left his cheeks rosy and his mind dull-witted. He knew drying out would be a painful process and he had no intention of ever going through it. He was determined to stay drunk until he died. 

Yoongi got up from his desk. He knows tensing against the shaking of his limbs is useless but he does it instinctively, trying to suppress for a few more moments what he knew he could not. He needed to drink in the silence to counteract the fear that threatened to consume him. This kind of thick silence would normally salve him, especially on a night where the only thing he could smell was alchohol and his parent’s screaming was louder than his own thoughts , but tonight it chilled him. 

He feels it. The more absolute it is the stronger it makes him shake. Something bad happened, something _really_ bad has happened. He misjudged the rapid onset of the shaking, his limbs were no longer taking directions from his mind and his hands were reaching for the doorknob. 

The patter of his bare feet broke the stinging silence and he rounded the corner towards his kitchen. 

Something thick and wet glazed the bottom of his feet and Yoongi grabbed onto the back of a chair to keep him upright. 

His feet were wet with crimson and Yoongi’s stomach lurched. 

Jin was sitting in the corner of the kitchen. Blood coated his palms and was splattered onto his shirt. A knife lay discarded near him, slick with the red mess. 

“Jin.” Yoongi whispered. His voice came out warbled and cracked.

Jin didn’t look up, he stared at the floor. 

Yoongi looked further into the kitchen, stepping onto the wet tile. 

Yoongi felt everything he had to eat that day rise in his chest and he covered his mouth. His parents lay on the ground, soaked with crimson. 

His mother’s eyes were still open staring at the ceiling, her face was bruised and her chest wasn't rising. His father lay there in a similar state but there were bloody scratches across his face and a deep gash in his neck. 

"Why." Yoongi choked out, his hands tangled in his own hair. 

"Jin. What happened." Yoongi said, at first he thought Jin didn't hear him, because his reply came a while later. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Jin repeated over and over again. 

"What happened." Tears were falling from Yoongi's eyes now, they felt cold against his burning face. 

Yoongi didn’t know what to look at. If he looked at his parents again, he wasn't sure how he was going to react. His eyes were glued to the red mess on the previously white tile.  
He wondered if it would ever wash out after this or if it would be painted a ghostly pink forever. 

"I didn't do it. I didn't -" Yoongi looked up at Jin whose face was buried in his hands. He looked up at Yoongi, blood streaking his cheeks. 

"I had to make them stop. It needed to stop. I made them stop. He was hurting her. Yoongi he was hurting her." Jin told Yoongi, although it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself.

"Yoongi listen to me. I didn't do anything. I didn't."

 _"You killed them."_ Yoongi hissed.

Jin scrambled to his feet, and Yoongi backed into the living room, his feet making red prints on the hardwood floor. 

"Yoongi listen to me. Please." He said again. Yoongi shook his head. He tried not to cry, this couldn't be real.

"This can't be happening. You didn't kill them." Yoongi tried reassuring himself. Jin touched his shoulder and Yoongi jerked back, eyes blown and shaking. 

"Yoongi. Please- don't be afraid." Jin stuttered, his eyes gleaming and the blood on his face gleaming even more.

"You fucking stabbed them to death. _You stabbed them._ " Yoongi growled. He shoved Jin hard in the shoulders and Jin stumbled back. 

"I had to make them stop! I had to make the screaming stop! Yoongi you understand right? You have to understand." Jin yelled. 

"What are you gonna tell the police? Huh? That you stabbed them both to death, because what? Because you're fucking crazy!" His words were vitriolic and Jin backed into the wall, shutting his eyes. 

"I'm not crazy Yoongi. I'm not. We'll tell them -"

"We'll?" 

"We'll tell them that Dad stabbed her and I - I attacked him to defend her. That's believable. He's a drunk." 

"Do you hear yourself Seokjin, " Yoongi spat, tears spilling from his eyes, "Why didn't you just call the police, Dad could've gotten help. We could have fixed this." 

"I'm trying to protect us. To protect _you_ ."

"Jin you're crazy." Yoongi mumbled, his eyes flicking from his open door to Jin standing there staring at him. Yoongi bolted towards his room, his feet slipping on the wood floor. Jin didn’t move, he just stood there, watching as Yoongi ran and slammed the door behind him.

Yoongi locked the door and scrambled for his phone, his shaking fingers typing 911. 

The world came back to Yoongi in technicolor, vivid and shocking. Everything red bounced out at him, and Yoongi shut his eyes as pain blossomed in his temple. 

Yoongi didn't notice his hands were clenched into fists until the bartender approached him, asking if he was okay. He replied with a slight nod, smoothing out the now crumpled letter against his thigh and started at the phone number. 

_If Jin managed to find his office, why didn't he just see him? Why did he leave a note like a coward?_ Yoongi thought, his leg bouncing anxiously. 

He pulled his phone out of the breast pocket of his blazer and tapped the number. 

The call button glowed green and he hesitantly clicked it, putting the phone to his ear. 

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello? Who is this? This is Seokjin."

His voice was exactly the same. Jin was 18 when the incident happened and now, 6 years later, age and experience hadn't hardened his soft voice.

"Hello?" Seokjin asked again.

"Hyung?" Yoongi said, his voice was noncommittal but his eyes shone with apprehension. 

"Yoongi?"

Yoongi pulled the phone away from his ear and hung up before he could hear another word.

He hopped down from the bar stool, legs wobbling. Someone might have thought he was drunk the way he stumbled out of the bar, but Yoongi was as sober as ever. 

Yoongi’s face was on fire and his limbs burned as he hurried to his apartment a few blocks away. The fire that always consumed him when water wouldn’t permeated his flesh. Because to Yoongi, that fire didn't care if it burned wood, meat or the flesh from your body. Like knives, which have no preference at all. In all this world, in the fire and brimstone of it all, flames and waves engulfed Yoongi and anyone else who let it, when his atoms are just atoms. Every part of his body is no more than a borrowed element forged in a star, and it's time for him to glow hot again – light up the night with the fat under his pampered skin. Burning can be fast or slow, Yoongi was thinking slow, starting from his toes, spreading out like blood soaking a carpet.

In a house fire the smoke puts you out first, it's a kindness he supposed. But, Yoongi also supposes, he isn't too kind.


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Thursday morning, and Yoongi's leg bounced in anticipation. He only had one appointment today. He _always_ had one appointment on Thursdays.

Yoongi was as bitter as the coffee that scalded down his throat.

He grimaced at the taste and set the mug down, hoping it would work fast and he'd be wide awake soon.

It was Thursday morning, and his leg bounced in anticipation. He only had one appointment today. He always had one appointment on Thursdays.

Yoongi felt lost and confused, but happy and certain. He was surprised by how the thought of seeing Jimin later could shove down all the bitterness and anger. He was like a ball of tangled yarn. The parts that are untangled are available, useable; the rest is a mess, useless until it is untied. That mess feels endless and at most times unyielding.

He guesses that’s usually what came with being bitter. Anger was something that was over quick, washing over you fast and hot, resulting in blind rages and red skin. Being bitter was deeper than that. It wasn’t fast or easy. It cut deep and whoever was holding the knife was twisting it in your gut, trying to draw some sort of reaction. Maybe a strangled cry or a plea to just end your life. Being bitter was a lot worse than  being angry.

Yoongi took a gulp of his coffee.

He thought psychology was going to save him. He thought it would help him figure out what was wrong with the world, tell him why people did what they did. It didn’t. All it showed him was how sick his brother and his father really were. He gave up hope on being able to help people. In his eyes his job, his degree, his supposed “better understanding of the brain and how it worked” was a joke, because he was still in the same damned position. Grasping for something to make him better, whole again.

“Your 10 o’clock appointment is here.” A woman’s voice squeaked through his intercom.

His two double doors swung open slowly and Jimin stepped into his office. His hair was styled and his face seemed to be glowing. Yoongi wondered how long it took god, or whoever the fuck it was, to sculpt that incredible face. He figured it couldn’t have been god, this boy was made of something more than dust.

“Hello Dr.M - Yoongi. Sorry.” Jimin said with a smile, and sat on the couch in front of Yoongi’s desk.

“I really don’t know what these sessions are even about anymore. It seems as though we have a more intimate relationship than doctor and patient. I mean, some could even consider us friends.”  Yoongi rambled, reaching for his coffee mug that had already been emptied. When did he finish it?

Jimin gazed into Yoongi's  velvet brown eyes. His elbows rested painfully on Yoongi's desk and Yoongi was saying something. Something Jimin wasn't really listening to. He was listening but not to what he was saying. Jimin focused on the way Yoongi's jaw moved as he spoke and the way his voice made to cover up a shred of an accent that Jimin tried so desperately to place.

"I’ve let go." Jimin interrupted.

"What?"

Jimin sighed, sitting back in the plush couch, letting the plastic lining swallow him.

“All of the dreams I used to have, the hallucinations, Taheyung’s voice. All of the bits of him that were lost to reality but still there for me. I let go of it. Of it all.”

“I - How do you know?”

“It was like a dream, or a hallucination, I’m not sure if I know the difference anymore. I saw him and I was being drawn away and I don’t know it was like a weight was lifted off of my shoulders. Maybe it was the fact that seeing his gravestone made it more real.” Jimin’s voice faded to a whisper.

“It may feel like you’ve come to terms with everything, but it doesn’t always happen so fast. Depression isn’t something that can go away and neither can grief.” Yoongi sighed. He knew Jimin’s thought process, because there was a time when Yoongi was in the same position. He knew that it didn’t last and he didn’t want to get Jimin’s hopes up.

“I - I know. I figured as much. I just want to be happy while it lasts ya’ know? Enjoy it until the memories come back to bite me in the ass.” Jimin chuckled, and Yoongi’s breath hitched in his throat. He gulped down a smile and bit the inside of his lip. His laugh was ethereal.

“Jimin. I don’t think -”

“I want to help you Yoongi.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I know you aren’t as put together as you seem. I - I looked in your medicine cabinet…” Jimin started.

“I know. My cologne was misplaced.” Yoongi said, fighting back an acrimonious tone

“Sorry about that… it is - it was the one Taehyung used… and I saw your medication.”

Yoongi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed privacy and organization, it was what kept him glued together at the seams. He watched the colors flicker against the back of his eyelids before looking at Jimin again, who was staring down at his shoelaces.

“And what? What do you think you can do for me Jimin. I know almost everything about your deepest emotions but you know shit about mine.”

Yoongi regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. He watched as his eyes practically dimmed and if they were made of the glass that they seemed to be, they might have just cracked.

“I’m sorry. If these sessions aren’t working anymore, I might as well go.” Jimin muttered.

“Jimin wait. No. I’m sorry. There is something you can help me with.”

~

“It’s right over here.” Yoongi murmured, walking through the rows of tombstones as if he’s been here thousands of times before. Jimin supposes he has, he’s probably been here more times than he can count. He’s probably seen this field in every season. Graves glistening with the rain of fall, or snow of winter. Plaques with forgotten names and dates baking in the heat of summer and being worn by the winds of spring. Rows of tombstones stood in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some were crumbled with the weathering of centuries, others were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes.

Yoongi stopped in front of a tombstone. There was a cruel irony in the gravestone. It stood there with its youthful glow, strong, erect, ready to last a hundred years or more. It was engraved and the plaque with his parent’s names was a thin slab of black marble, there was a picture of an angel and two hands folded in prayer - at his grandparent’s request. It was something permanent to mark something so transient. Their flesh returns to the soil, the memories evaporate, their life extinguished. Their mourners - which consisted of Yoongi and only Yoongi -  flock to this cold stone as if they can halt all of what did and will happen, and make permanent what never can be. It's something to visit when he cannot bear the separation any longer. It is something tangible and dependable when all else is in turmoil, when the loved one has departed but the stone stays. Yoongi comes when he feels like his foundations are crumbling - which is more often than not - like an unsteady Jenga tower with someone tugging at a crucial brick. Yoongi knows it's ridiculous, but somehow this slice of rock steadies him again and makes things okay for a short while.

“Your parents right?” Jimin broke the silence. Yoongi had forgotten he was there and wondered how long he had stood there, staring at the tombstone.

“Yeah. They’re both there. Till death do us part ya’know.” Yoongi chuckled. Jimin glanced at Yoongi and back down at the tomb.

“They were murdered right?” Jimin said hesitantly.

“Yeah. In my kitchen.”

Jimin swallowed a lump that was growing in his throat.

“Was the murderer ever brought to justice?”

Yoongi chuckled, low and deep. Jimin then realized how close they were because could practically feel the laugh reverberate through his ribs and rattle his spine.

“No. He wasn’t.”

“You said I can help you, and I want to. I mean this was my idea, but I really don’t know what to do or say, I thought I could help but I really… You’re the one that has a way with words and I just -”

Yoongi slammed his lips against Jimin’s, nearly knocking the wind out of his lungs. The kiss was slow, Yoongi’s eyes were clamped shut and his shaky hands reached up to cup Jimin’s face. Jimin put a hand on Yoongi’s chest, intending to push him away, but he didn’t. He just kept it there, his short fingers splayed against Yoongi’s tan blazer.

People had always described a kiss as a spark but damn it was more than that. Jimin’s heart was hammering into his rib cage, threatening to break it open and jump out of his chest. He could hear the thumping in his ears and his body trembled with hesitation and lust. There was something rumbling in his stomach, and they weren’t butterflies. These were far more ravenous and were probably feasting on his innards, but Jimin hardly noticed because Yoongi’s lips were so soft and tasted like sugar and cream.

Something like liquid warmth coaxed through his body. A fire coursed through his veins but was extinguished immediately as Yoongi abruptly pulled away from him. Jimin stumbled forward, wanting to feel the warmth again.

Yoongi was staring over his shoulder, his eyes blown and his lips struggling to find words. Jimin turned and saw a man standing a few meters away. He had brown hair and a long black trench coat. He had broad shoulders and a face that looked like he had walked straight out of a magazine.

Yoongi stepped forward and Jimin felt his hand clamp around his wrist. Yoongi’s grip was tight and digging into Jimin’s flesh. He would have drawn away if it weren’t for the apparent tension in the air. Yoongi’s expression could only be described as fear.

“Hi Yoongi. It’s been a long time.”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye~! Sorry for the wait! I feel like this is a really short chapter so sorry about that TT  
> I started a tag for [ Thursday ](https://babe-hyun.tumblr.com/tagged/thursday) on my Tumblr so you can go there and ask me questions about the story and the universe in which it lives! (OR YOU CAN JUST COME AND TALK TO ME~!)


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin, who was always so affable, tasted a bit of Yoongi on his tongue. Coffee and petulance.

Yoongi wasn’t afraid of his brother.

Well, not the normal type of fear you get from a horror movie or rollercoaster. This fear wasn’t a gut reaction or something that crept up on you in the darkness of night. This was a fear that resided completely in Yoongi's mind. Feeding on his thoughts and causing a bitch of a headache that sits right on his temple, drumming a hard, painful beat against your skull.

Yoongi was beginning to feel the dull ache in his forehead. He didn’t realize he was still clenching onto Jimin’s hand until he wiggled out of his grasp, repositioning his hand inside Yoongi’s. He was too occupied with his raging thoughts and the fear that was now making it’s way into his chest to focus on how soft and warm the palm of Jimin’s hand was.

“Yoongi. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Jin spoke. Yoongi’s mouth felt like he had been deprived of water for a few months and his tongue was beginning to feel like sandpaper.

“Why are you here.” Yoongi said, his voice coming out louder and stronger than he thought it would.

“I come here a lot actually, to pay my respects.” Jin mumbled, looking down. He stepped forward, and Yoongi stepped back, dragging a bewildered Jimin with him.

“Pay your respects,” Yoongi scoffed, “You shouldn’t come here. How dare you come here.” Yoongi hissed through clenched teeth and found himself squeezing Jimin’s hand just as hard.

“Yoongi, I - I feel like there’s a lot you still resent about me.” Jin said, eyes searching for Yoongi's who was avoiding  his gaze at all costs. He inched forward again, but this time Yoongi didn’t cower.

“I’m sorry, this must be a bit weird for you, and I'm not sure we know eachother.” Jin said, turning to Jimin, “I’m Seokjin. Yoongi’s brother.”

“I’m Jim-”

“Don’t talk to him.” Yoongi ordered, stepping in front of Jimin slightly. The cogs in Jimin’s head were turning and for some reason his heart was beating really fast. The tension was curling it’s fingers around his neck and he could only imagine how Yoongi must be feeling at the moment. Jimin wasn’t sure why the two were behaving this way, but it must have been a good reason if Yoongi was being so combative.

“Yoongi, there’s no reason to be immature. I know it’s hard for you, I understand, I’ve made it this way. Can’t we just talk about this?” Jin sighed, walking up to him. He was less than a meter away now and Jimin’s hand was aching. Yoongi had never felt this way before, like there was something ravenous and malicious running through his bloodstream. Making his entire body pulse and echo in his ears, he feared he might actually explode, a mess of blood and guts, and he didn’t dislike the idea.

“No reason to be immature? I’m being immature? I’m not the one who had a mental breakdown and murdered their parents!” Yoongi screamed, the pulsing was increasing. Yoongi had never punched anyone before and was surprised by the pain that blazed up his arm when his fist made contact with Jin’s jaw. Seokjin stumbled backwards, eyes wide and his hands holding his face.

The action brought floods of memories, and Yoongi was flashed to the night when it all happened. When he shoved Jin by the shoulders and ran towards his room. Feet slipping on blood and tracking the crimson prints across his house. Yoongi wished he had someplace to run now, but what would happen then? Would Jin find him again, show up to his office? His house? Force Yoongi to come to terms with reality, force Yoongi to talk, and work things out?

“Yoongi -ah!” The name sounded nice, all syllables and informality, rolling off of Jimin’s tongue, and brought Yoongi back to reality.

“Let’s just go. Ok, let’s go!” Jimin cried, pulling on Yoongi’s arm. Jin was silent now, and Yoongi looked at him again.

“I don’t want to talk about things. I don’t want to talk to you. You’re not my brother Seokjin.”

“Yoongi wait, please!” Jin was calling, but Jimin was already leading Yoongi out of the cemetery, their arms linked at the elbows, but it wasn’t a romantic gesture. Jimin was trying to keep the trembling man standing as he erupted into a strangled cry.

For the first time, Jimin saw Yoongi crack, a big, long, deep crack that climbed up his entire being and nearly split him in half. Somehow, Jimin was enough to keep him standing. Enough to keep him together.

~

The water poured down, it dripped  down Yoongi’s body, as his mind faded into dullness and everything was a foggy illusion. The sensation of the steamy water calmed him; it takes his mind of things. All the things he honestly just doesn’t want to think about . It's the water. His mind was swirling, and it was like he was standing under an everlasting waterfall. Ever so beautiful, but it can never last. He knows better than to trust the water that would only end up drowning him. He knew that.

The water used to be a type of therapy for him. It kept him sane throughout the duration of the trial. With only Jin and Yoongi in the house the day of the murders, there were respectively only 2 suspects. The courthouse was in the old jail. Built of grey stone, thick walls, bars on the outer windows. Just walking in made Yoongi feel claustrophobic. It smelt of centuries of fear. When the heavy oak door clanged shut behind him the daylight dwindled to less than you'd get on a storm cloud covered day. He wondered if they put the courthouse there on purpose to scare the defendants. It already felt like you were locked up, like you'd never walk on grass again or feel the sun on your hair.  

Jin became the prime suspect after Yoongi made his testimony. He told the detectives he was upstairs listening to music and that he couldn’t hear any commotion downstairs, the screaming however, was enough to make him go downstairs, and there he found a distraught Jin in the kitchen with a knife.

Jin’s testimony is what set him free.  He claimed that he saw their father stab their mother in a fit of drunken, blind rage, and wrestled the knife away from him. He said that his father tried to attack him and the knife was the only thing Jin had to defend himself. Yoongi sat in the chair on the defendants side, grinding his teeth. The autopsy showed alcohol in their father’s system, and Seokjin walked free.

Shortly after the trial, after the two boys were released, Yoongi requested his emancipation and focused on his studies. His nose buried in psychology books, Yoongi buried deeper in his depression. The water was always there, slowly rising, after a while Yoongi just stopped repairing the water damage. It was like he stopped paying for flood insurance and left the mold to grow, to infest, to take over until there was nothing else.

Yoongi had been standing in the shower for who knows how long now, his legs ached and his skin was becoming blotchy and red as the steaming water rushed over his milky white skin. He didn’t want to leave the safety of his bathroom and face Jimin who was waiting in his living room, but he knew he couldn’t stay there forever.

He reluctantly turned of the water and pulled back the curtains, cold air rushing over his bare body and causing every possible goosebump to raise on his skin. He pulled on his clothes, a t-shirt and sweatpants, and thanked god that the shower helped his hands to stop shaking.

Jimin stood as soon as he saw Yoongi exit the bathroom. His mouth opened to say something, but deciding against it, he sat down again. His weight straining against the plastic lining.

“Sorry I took so long.” Yoongi mumbled, bouncing on the balls of his aching feet.

“It’s ok. I - Are you okay?” Jimin said, his voice a low whisper.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He chuckled, pushing his wet hair away from his forehead.

“You’re not Yoongi. You can talk to me. I’ve told you almost everything about my life, it’s not like I can judge you or anything -” Jimin muttered, scooting over to make space for Yoongi who was walking towards the couch.  

“It’s a long story.”

“It’s not like I have someone to rush home to.” Jimin chuckled, and Yoongi stared at him, “Forget I said that.”

Yoongi sighed, “Well, I guess I should start from the beginning. My parents fought a lot, and my dad was a drunk and he - he hit my mom a lot. When I was 17 Jin -” He stopped, a lump growing in his throat.

“He killed your parents.” Jimin finished, looking down at Yoongi’s hands which were balled into tight fists. Yoongi’s head shot up, staring at Jimin with blown eyes.  

“How did yo-”

“You said it, when we were at the cemetery.”

“Oh, I did.” Yoongi whispered, looking down again, “Now you know everything about me, why I’m so fucked up.”

Yoongi jumped when he felt Jimin’s fingers brush over his. Jimin gently uncurled each of his fingers, releasing the pressure that was thumping in the palm of Yoongi’s hand. Yoongi felt tingles shoot up his arm and he wasn’t sure if it was because Jimin’s hands were warm or something else.

“You’re not fucked up Yoongi.” Jimin said, his eyes not leaving Yoongi’s.

“I kind of am. You don’t really recover from seeing your parent’s dead body on the kitchen floor and your brother covered in their blood. You can’t recover from that.”

Jimin took one of Yoongi’s hand in both of his, encasing Yoongi’s shaking hand in warmth and a sense of security.  Jimin didn’t know why this was his first reaction, to hold Yoongi’s hand, to comfort the older man, but it was.

“I wanted to say, I’m sorry for earlier, for .. for kissing you earlier.” Yoongi said, almost inaudibly. He felt Jimin’s grip loosen and he hesitantly withdrew, eyes fluttering closed and lips exhaling.

“It’s okay, I liked it. It's okay.” Jimin replied. Yoongi only nodded, his neck felt hot and he wanted to run to his shower again.

“I feel like all we say is it's okay, that's okay, you're okay, we're okay. But I'm starting to hate that damned word, okay isn't enough anymore.” Yoongi stumbled, fists curling again.

“Maybe you just have to be okay with okay. There will be a day when okay is better, or maybe it’ll never be, but at least you’re okay.” Jimin paused, “I came to that realization after talking to you. I guess this what I’ve learned from the sessions. You really helped me Yoongi.” He rambled, the nascence of a rumbling heartbeat hammering against his lungs. Yoongi had a look that was often expressionless, but never morose. Jimin knew there was a smile waiting behind the edge of his lip that would slightly upturn or a frown when he bit the inside of his lip. Jimin noticed his habits just as Yoongi noticed his. Jimin noticed the way his fingers would curl when a pencil was misplaced on his desk or the knot that seemed to surface against his brow when something wasn’t to his standard. The way his pink lips glistened after he swiped his tongue over them.

Shifting sideways, Jimin glances at him, eyes meeting. Yoongi’s dark eyes were like two deep oceans. They weren’t blue and glistening like the surface, but black and neverending like the depths of the sea. Jimin was drowning in them, coughing up black liquid and diving back in. Jimin stares shyly back at Yoongi, and Jimin’s hand reaches under his hair, right below his ear, his thumb caressing his cheek.

“Thank you Yoongi.”

Suddenly Jimin sees him, his eyes revealing more than his words could express. Their lips part and breaths mingle, hesitance dripping from every pore and nervousness itching beneath the first layer of skin. Jimin’s heart flutters as Yoongi draws him to his lips.  The kiss is soft and chaste, there’s a lack of fireworks and sparks that Jimin expected, it was something much better. Warmth filled his core, starting from his chest and up into his neck. It was an odd sort of warmth, the kind he felt when coming home to his parents house for holidays, or sitting in his favorite cafe with a mug of warm coffee. It was comfort, Yoongi felt like home and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Jimin’s eyes fluttered open for second, and gazed over the bridge of Yoongi’s nose at his milky white skin. His eyelashes shielded his vision but he could make out the sun glaring through the window into Yoongi’s living room. It was mid-July and the once rainy city was bright and sunny. His eyes shut again and Jimin kissed him with a new fervor. His hands gripped Yoongi’s hair and Yoongi found a spot right above Jimin’s hip to fit his palm. Jimin, who was always so affable, tasted a bit of Yoongi on his tongue. Coffee and petulance. Yoongi’s hand was on his skin now, curled around his waist, nails digging into flesh.

Jimin reeled back, his breathing was tenuous and a laugh bounced off his throat and Yoongi returned it. They laughed, like this was the most normal of situations; like Jimin wasn’t still grieving his dead fiance, and like Yoongi wasn’t spiraling down a rollercoaster that was bound to be derailed. They laughed because Jimin’s hand was still clenched in Yoongi’s wet hair and Yoongi still held Jimin’s waist firm in his grasp. They laughed because they wouldn’t be letting go anytime soon.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all the kind words and comments, I don't reply to them cuz I'd literally say the same thing everytime, "OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH TT"  
> But I really appreciate the feedback and everything ~
> 
> Also, if you have any questions and stuff my [tumblr](http://babe-hyun.tumblr.com) inbox is always open


	7. Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimin found comfort in the heat rising in his cheeks and the rumbling of his stomach.

Parties weren’t Jimin’s thing, that was apparent, but Jungkook lived for the scene. 

The music, dancing with bodies touching and heat swelling around him. He lived for the pump of bass in his blood and alcohol buzzing in his ears. He figured Jimin would like to get out, go somewhere that wasn’t his job or the shrink. Maybe forget a little, forget the past, the hardships, the pain, and even the good times. 

So that’s what he did.

Jimin forgot. He drank until he forgot Taehyung’s last name, and until he forgot what it felt like to be sober. He drank until he forgot his favorite song, and he fell in love with the one playing. He drank like his body was on fire and  _ knew  _ soju would only ignite the flames further. He drank because he wanted to pass out and forget, to be sucked into the vacuum of oblivion and drown in the dark and vomit and taste of cheap liquor. He drank when he wanted to forget Taehyung’s last name and for it to be replaced with vivid memories of Yoongi’s lips on his and his hand gripping his body like there wasn’t anything he’d rather be doing.

So that’s what he did. 

Somehow he found comfort in the heat rising in his cheeks and the rumbling of his stomach. Jungkook tried to get him to stop, warning him of alcohol poisoning and other things that were a potential danger to the -albeit he was older than Jungkook- vulnerable boy. Jimin refused to listen and fell deeper into the deceptiveness of the shot glass and the gull of another beer. 

Jungkook, arms weak from shots of whiskey, carried a limp bodied Jimin to his house. Jungkook’s roommates were still at the party they had just left, so the house was quiet and the living room was enveloped in darkness. He deposited the boy on the couch, letting out a sigh as he placed a pillow beneath Jimin’s heavy head. Jimin’s cheeks were plump again, squished against the plush pillow, and rosy from alcohol. 

Jungkook smiled, reminiscing on the memories he and Jimin shared, most of them accompanied by a ray of sunshine that was Kim Taehyung. Jungkook wasn’t the type to mourn, or to cry and become depressed. He missed his family member, like there was a part of him missing, but dwelling on it didn’t seem practical to the young man. Dwelling caused pain, he didn’t want Jimin or himself to dwell. 

Jungkook let out a rushed breath, kicked off his boots, and  found a seat amongst the mess that was his house. He looked at Jimin, noting how peacefully he was sleeping. 

Jungkook, mind whirring from the party and too busy to be lulled to sleep, stared as his snoring friend, wondering what he was dreaming about. Was it Taehyung? Someone else? Was he dreaming at all? Jungkook figured that while asleep they were children again. They dreamt of things past, things that will never be again. In their dreams they have comfort, freedom and love. Sometimes they can hope that they will be visited by those they’ve lost and for those perfect hours of sleep they’ll be whole again. Then on waking they’ll scramble to write it down, just in case there is some sort of mystic wisdom in the randomness. It's not that they think they're really talking to them, mostly, but that the subconscious minds can send these people they associate with solutions, comfort, as answers to the frightening unknown. Of course sometimes it's all garbage or too obscure to figure out. Sometimes they are nightmares, but Jimin said those were getting fewer and far between, now that life has settled back into a rhythm. 

Jungkook is glad that Jimin can truly look forward to turning in at night, to have thick duvets and and the finest pillows, hell, having a mattress is a luxury in this cruel world isn’t it. In that case, everything is lavish and  the one day everything’s gone, there’s no use in being self-sufficient, that's what makes them so lethargic. Why try when they can just live on takeout and pay-per-view TV for the next decade and then starve. 

Despite the splendor of modern living, there was still death and tears, could Jimin or Jungkook still afford to say he was happy. Even with running water and cheap liquor to drink and shoes on their feet, there were thorns in the bottom of his 150 dollar Timberlands, slowly bleeding him out with every step. But he was too content to say anything, too content to slow down, too content to just stop walking and sleep. 

Jungkook laughed, leaning back in the armchair he was sitting in, missing Taehyung, missing the Jimin who was once happy and in love. Jungkook realized that maybe, just maybe, he was the one unhappy and that not dwelling on the pain wasn’t working. In that case, dwell or not, there was no solution to loss. What’s lost is gone, and that was enough to calm Jungkook’s overthinking mind and pull him into the opulence of sleep. 

~

Jimin realized quickly that he was a light weight, and that it was probably time to go home, when it was a bit too late.

Which is why he woke up with a bitch of a headache, sprawled out on Jungkook’s sofa, with a bit of spit dripping from his swollen lips. There was a bright light that glimmered across the expanse of the living room, reflecting into Jimin’s eyes and causing him to finally sit up, his head reeling. 

“Oh. You’re awake.” A voice,which was strongly bombastic and surprisingly not Jungkook’s, boomed from the kitchen. Jimin groaned in response, turning to see who the person was.

“Ah, Jungkook told me you’d be here, and probably hungover. I made some tea, peppermint, that’s supposed to help. According to Jungkook at least, but here,” The person approached Jimin, hands outstretched with a cup of tea and a smile brighter than the fluorescent lights that shone from the kitchen, “I’m Hoseok, I live here with Jungkook and the others, I have to go to work soon though, I hope you feel better.” The man rambled, patting Jimin on the shoulder. Before Jimin could form a response, Hoseok was shrugging on his shoes and locking the door behind him.

Jimin got up to turn off the kitchen light, retreating back into the dark comforts of the living room, where his mind was at ease and the pain was less. He nursed the cup of tea, legs drawn up to his chest with heat swirling in the height of his cheeks and in the tips of his fingers. There was a tingling sensation in his feet and his legs were losing feeling, but he liked the sensation, it reminded him of what it felt like to be sober again. The feeling of not being numb.

There was beauty in that numbness however. He loved the way he could completely unravel and not feel a thing, how his tears wouldn’t sting his cheeks or his palms wouldn’t ache when being clenched. It was when he couldn’t hear his own voice screaming into the sky, or feel the sensation of alcohol burning down his throat. 

Being sober meant you felt all of that and then some.

Jimin sighed once reaching the bottom of his mug, and turned his phone over that was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. 

A text from Jungkook read, “ _ I hope Hoseok made you tea in the morning, I told him to. Don’t go anywhere today! Rest! You can go to my room if you want, just stay there, please.”  _

The date said Thursday, July 18 in the corner and Jimin jolted off of the couch. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He muttered to himself, suddenly in a hurry and in a frantic search for his shoes. He wandered into a room in the back of the house, Jungkook’s, and silently cursed himself for turning out the kitchen light before as he stumbled in the darkness for a lightswitch.

Jungkook’s room was immaculately tidied, and his closet door was open, revealing color coded shirts and sneakers lined in a neat row on the floor. Jimin hurridly pulled out a pair of Jungkook’s shorts and a t-shirt, neglecting to honor Jungkook’s organization. His clothes were a bit big on the smaller man, but Jimin was in a hurry. He put on Jungkook’s sneakers, which were a size too big, when his were nowhere to be found. Without a second glance, he left Jungkook’s house.  

How could he forget that it was Thursday and Yoongi was waiting for him. 


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heat of Jimin’s body coaxed the cold, that had been settled there for a while, right out of Yoongi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never writing 3K of smut ever again

They had agreed to meet in Yoongi’s house instead of the office.

Their awkward, yet somehow intimate, relationship had surpassed the stiff chairs and waiting rooms. Jimin could feel a knot in his stomach and an inkling of his hangover as he walked up the stairs to Yoongi’s apartment. He was slightly winded by the time he reached Yoongi’s door and his knuckles rapped against the frame quietly. 

The door swung open almost immediately and Jimin was greeted with a nervous smile and a gesture for him to step inside. Yoongi’s hands instinctively found his hoodie pocket and he cursed himself for not doing something with his hair, as he stared into Jimin’s glorious eyes.

“I got drunk last night. Really drunk.” Jimin blurted, eyes not wavering from Yoongi’s. They hadn’t stepped out of the foyer, and Yoongi’s hands twitched nervously in his pocket, “I know I shouldn’t have, but I don’t think I understand the concept of coping yet.”

Yoongi nodded, dancing with the words he wanted to say while the ones he  _ should _ say were slowly waltzing away from him. 

“I understand Jimin, it’s not something people can just do easily.” He replied.

“Jungkook seems just fine though, and Taehyung was his best friend.” Jimin leaned against the wall of Yoongi’s foyer and Yoongi bounced on his heels.

“You of all people should know that people aren’t as put together as they seem.” Yoongi chuckled. 

“I didn’t come here to talk though.” Jimin muttered, and Yoongi prayed to whatever gods there were that he wouldn’t get what he wanted. He wanted to kiss Jimin’s plump lips, teeth dragging on his bottom one, and for his hands to roam up and down his perfect body. But Yoongi knew Jimin wasn’t here because of feelings, it was psychological, it was coping, it was his way to forget for a while, it was his drug, his alcohol. Yoongi didn’t want to succumb to it, to become Jimin’s toy, but he also knew he wanted it more than anything. To be able to kiss Jimin right above his collarbone and to see Jimin in his most vulnerable and delicate state. 

“Then why are you here.” 

“I need you Yoongi, you’re the only one that can-” 

Yoongi shook his head, his eyes shut tight and a hand raised to quiet Jimin. Yoongi contemplated everything in this moment, whether to feed into Jimin’s cunning charm or to stick up for his morals. He wanted to help Jimin in the way he really needed help, but their relationship was far past patient and doctor and Yoongi cursed himself for letting it progress this far.

“I’m not the only one Jimin. I can’t be. You can’t use me to cope, that can’t be how it works.” 

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Can you not see that I possibly have feelings for you?” Jimin said taken aback by Yoongi's brusque words. 

_ Possibly.  _ Yoongi thought.

“Sure you may have feelings for me. But you’re also mourning your dead fiance and you can’t possibly have the same feelings for me that I do for you. You also just said you didn't understand the concept of coping, so do you really expect me to think of this any other way?” Yoongi said, his words rushing out of him in one breath. Before he could catch it, or struggle to take the words back, or scramble to find some sort of relief, Jimin had his lips on his. 

Yoongi stumbled backwards, hands grasping Jimin’s wrists. 

“This can’t be how you solve problems.” Yoongi chuckled.

Jimin’s hands found their way out of Yoongi’s grasp and locked around his neck. 

“Please. Just once.” Jimin pleaded, his voice low, needy, unraveling. It took everything out of Yoongi to not push him against the wall of his foyer and fuck him right there, but he didn't. Yoongi had to keep his crumbling composure for just a while more.

Jimin pushed his face closer, and Yoongi’s mind whirred, ordering his body to fall in line. Retreat would be a disaster, a show of weakness and an outlet for his heart that was threatening to hammer through his ribcage. Nothing in his face betrayed his fear, it was a mask of stoicism and security. Jimin waited for it to falter, for Yoongi to give in, for him to say something,  _ anything.  _ The fear would need an out of course, but he wasn't going to make the first move on a boy who didn’t know what he was doing. Jimin was unconsciously using Yoongi as an outlet. Yoongi didn’t like the idea entirely, but there was something about it that made his hair stand up and cause a strain in pants. There was a time and a place for feelings and intimacy and this sure as hell wasn't it.

But when else would Yoongi get the opportunity he had now? 

“Jimin-ah.” Yoongi muttered, his hands cupping Jimin’s face, “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

Jimin nodded, eyes glimmering with lust and desire or maybe something else entirely, fear? 

Yoongi propelled Jimin into the wall, his lips finding his collarbone and traveling up his neck. His hands were quick to remove Jimin’s shirt and Jimin’s shaking hands pulled off Yoongi’s bulky hoodie. Thankful for skin on skin, heat rushing through his body, Jimin let his head rest in the nape of Yoongi's neck as he worked on getting them both in their boxers. 

“Kiss me.” 

Yoongi complied. Starting at Jimin's lips, then to his neck, his collarbone, down his chest and stomach. 

His fingers found the waistband of Jimin's underwear and Yoongi let out a chuckle, “Should we go to my bedroom?” 

Jimin nodded, and followed Yoongi into his room. Jimin slammed the door behind him and collapsed on the bed under Yoongi. Their lips crashed together and they touched each other  like it would be their last time touching another human body in their lifetime. 

Somehow Jimin found himself on top of the older man, his hand on top of his chest and his lips latched onto his skin, leaving yet another mark on his white skin. His fingers traced the red and purplish marks, fascinated by how easy Yoongi bruised. 

Jimin let his free hand slip into Yoongi's underwear. Yoongi let his head hang back as Jimin stroked his member. 

“Just take them off” Yoongi growled, pushing Jimin back momentarily as he pulled down his boxers. 

Jimin's index entered Yoongi's heat, he didn't know where Yoongi kept the lube or if he had any for that matter, so he wet his finger with his mouth, gaining a moan from Yoongi who watched in anticipation. Yoongi's hips bucked from the touch. It wasn't that he hadn't felt something like it before, but the fact that it was Jimin's fingers that were rimming his hole made it entirely more arousing. 

“Hyung. Are you sure?” Jimin murmured, letting his thumb rub circles on Yoongi's inner thigh. Jimin had never called Yoongi hyung before and the word set his body on fire. He nodded profusely, his hands knotting in Jimin's hair at the nape of his neck. 

Jimin hummed in response, and let another finger slip into his heat. Yoongi's hips lifted off of the bed and he let a hand fall to grip the sheets as Jimin pumped in and out of him. Fingers curling, pumping faster, hitting his prostate every time. 

Yoongi was no stranger to one night stands and men who only used him to get off. He used to be okay with it, he used to think it was all he was good for at a time when he was plagued with depression. Yoongi knew the feeling of grips that were too rough, fingers too sharp, kisses leaving unappealing bruises. 

“Stop.” Yoongi ordered, gripping Jimin at the wrist and shifting to where Yoongi was angled above him, his knee between Jimin's legs, pushing them apart. He wasn't going to let Jimin unknowingly manipulate him. It wasn't Jimin's fault, he knew that, it was a product of dark thoughts, of loss, of not knowing how to comprehend pain and coping.

“I'm not just going to let you fuck me for fun Jimin. I need to tell you, Jimin I like you. I want this to be different.” Yoongi's lips lingered below Jimin's jawline, his wrist still in Yoongi's strong grasp. If this was how it was going to go, Yoongi would be fucking Jimin, not the other way around.

“Hyung, I like you too.” 

“Are you sure that's what you feel or what you want to feel?” 

“I'm sure Hyung.” Jimin whispered, his fingers tracing lines on the small of his back. 

“Fuck, you're so beautiful.” Yoongi muttered into his collarbone, peppering kisses along his hot skin and creating a ring of bruises along his neck. Jimin mumbled something incoherent, hands reaching to cup around Yoongi’s face. Yoongi faltered when he felt a hot breath on his neck, then the tender brush of lips. Burning as they make contact with the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Yoongi knows that once Jimin kisses his neck, once his lips make contact with the dip above his collarbone, his resistance will crumble. After just a few delicate touches of his warm lips Yoongi’s hands will start to do his bidding. They will fall down his back as his head swims, all previous thoughts stopped in their tracks. Now there is only one desire, one wish, and we both know it's just a matter of time before it happens.

A hand runs through his hair, as the kisses become harder and more urgent. Another hand slides around Yoongi’s waist, and pulls him close to his body. Yoongi’s hands were in the waistband of his boxers again and Jimin broke the kiss briefly to lift his hips off the sheet, allowing Yoongi to slip off his boxers. Jimin lets a moan roll off his lips as Yoongi’s fingers grazed his length. Yoongi watched Jimin’s hips stir in anticipation and his hands clench the sheets beneath them. Yoongi could feel the blood in his veins pulsing, Jimin looked so undone and vulnerable staring down at him through his lashes, it took Yoongi’s breath away. 

“Yoongi, I need you.” He choked out, as Yoongi’s had begun to kiss Jimin’s inner thighs, heat blazing in his core.

“What do you need.” He asked, fingers massaging circles on his hips and up the sides of his body. Jimin was on fire.

“I need you, all of you. Right now.” He begged, wrapping one of his legs around Yoongi’s torso in an attempt to bring him closer. Yoongi kissed him beneath his ear and took his lobe into his mouth, teeth scraping against skin. He pumped Jimin's length lazily and watched the boy writhe beneath him.

“Are you sure.” He asked again, hands moving to lift Jimin’s leg ono his shoulder. He was more flexible than Yoongi presumed and the thought made his mind whir. Yoongi, without disturbing their current position, reached over to his bedside table and retrieved a bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer.

Jimin closed his eyes as he felt Yoongi part his legs, and slide into him. Jimin’s arms tightened around Yoongi as his hips came up to meet him, pulling Yoongi more deeply inside of him.  He groaned as Yoongi moved inside of him, letting him fill him again and again, until all the empty places were gone.

“Jimin, fuck,” Yoongi groaned out as Jimin clenched around him, heat swarming around his length.

Yoongi could feel the way his touch transformed Jimin, the way that he was finding his way back to him; he heard it in his voice, the way he sung his name like a prayer.

Jimin’s whole body tightened around him as he finally let go of everything, letting Yoongi wash the pain away with the strength of each slow thrust.  He was flooding him, filling him, making him complete in all the ways he wasn’t without him. This was more than casual sex and he could feel it in his bones. 

Jimin suddenly could feel a warmth in the pit of his stomach. Something like a voracious, mind-shattering thirst just as a waterfall begins to surge down towards him from above; or a like a tickle that crept up from every corner of his body until he was so desperate for it to stop and also to continue forever, as if nimble fingers were scraping through his limbs. Like a gunshot, startling and discreet, leaving only the vibrations, the trembling steel, the blow-back.

“Yoongi.” The only word that Jimin could make out with each thrust, it became louder, more defined, confident, as Jimin clawed marks onto his back. Each one was another name, another moan, another burst of heat, the words Jimin couldn’t say or the ones his body didn’t allow him to. The room erupted in song. A cacophony of skin slapping skin and moans falling from swollen lips.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna -” 

The words were cut off as Yoongi pulled all the way out, he turned the boy onto his stomach and rammed  inside again. He continued with a few more strong thrusts, groans falling off his lips, and his hands gripping Jimin's hips so hard they might leave hand shaped bruises tomorrow morning; an orgasm wracked through Jimin’s body and his whines erupted through the room as he clenched the sheets in his hands and come glazed his stomach. 

“Fuck.” Yoongi groaned, before slipping out of Jimin, who collapsed on the bed next to him. Jimin sat up onto his elbows, arms weak and body still trembling from the aftershocks. Yoongi stroked his length, watching Jimin quiver and gain his bearings. 

“Let me.” Jimin said, shifting onto his knees, face flushed and hovered above Yoongi’s member. Yoongi’s eyes fluttered shut as Jimin took his length in his hand. It wasn’t like he had never been intimate like this with others, but somehow it was different with Jimin stroking his cock and planting kisses along his inner thigh. Tremors of arousal were still racking his body and he trembled as Jimin took his length in his mouth. He started slow, licking the tip, then down the expanse of his shaft, before bobbing his head to a slow, steady rhythm. Yoongi could feel his mind transcending his body, thoughts becoming flamboyant in nature and all he could think about was ravishing him on this very bed again and again. 

“Jimin, fuck, you look so pretty like this.” He said, his hand somehow found it’s way tangled in Jimin’s hair and his head began to bob up and down at a quicker pace. 

The feeling was agonizing, a flame in the pit of his stomach sent tingles of hypersensitivity to every area of his body. 

“Jimin-ah. Fuck. I’m gonna come.” Jimin hummed in response, the feeling reverberated off Yoongi’s cock and he rolled his hips towards Jimin’s face. He groaned loudly, and Jimin moaned as his warm load trickled down his throat. He released Yoongi’s member with a pop that echoed through the room and fell onto the bed beside him. His body still weak from his orgasm and his mind foggy and filled with thoughts of sleep and warm blankets.

“Wait.” Yoongi murmured, getting up and hurrying to his bathroom. He returned with a wet wash cloth and Jimin stayed quiet as he cleaned the come from his stomach and the sticky mess between his thighs. He then grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a tshirt for himself and Jimin from his drawer and helped the younger boy dress. 

“Thanks Yoongi.”  His voice was raspy and tired and that alone could have made Yoongi hard again, but Yoongi was also a stone wall of unwavering composure and all he did was awkwardly say your welcome and return to his place next to Jimin on the bed. 

“You can stay. Rest.” Yoongi said. He wanted to reach over, caress his face and brush the sweat laden hair from his forehead, but the anxiety returned as soon as his high left and everything became awkward again. 

Jimin nodded and pulled the covers up to his chest, his eyes closing slowly. Yoongi watched as the boy fell asleep, his full cheeks pressed against the pillow. He seemed younger, more innocent, despite the fact that he had just sucked Yoongi off. 

When Jimin seemed to be heavily weighed down by sleep, Yoongi reached over and brushed the hair from his brow. Jimin stirred slightly and moved towards Yoongi. He hesitated before letting his arm drop around Jimin's waist, tugging him closer. Jimin whined and let his head rest on Yoongi's chest, his arms wrapping around the expanse of Yoongi’s back. 

“I’m sorry Yoongi.” Jimin whispered into the soft fabric of his cotton t-shirt.

“Why are you sorry.” 

“I just am.” 

“You don’t have to be.” Yoongi muttered into his hair. He wanted to kiss him again, look him in the eyes and tell him it was okay. That they were okay, and everything would be okay. But someone,  _ something,  _ had just drilled hesitance into the very fiber of his being again and his hands were trembling. 

“I’m sorry.” Jimin repeated, hugging him tighter, holding him closer. Yoongi took deep breaths through his nose, in an attempt to calm his heart that was beating faster than he had ever felt it beat before.

“Jimin. Stop saying sorry.” Yoongi said, pulling back to look at him. Tears stained the young boys cheeks and for one of the first times, he looked away from Yoongi’s gaze. Yoongi pressed his lips to his temple, then on the tops of his eyelids, his cheek, his nose, his cupid’s bow, his lips. His hands traced circles and hearts and Jimin’s name and his name into his back and he did this until Jimin was once again under the lull of sleep.  

Yoongi wasn’t thinking about what had just happened, or the overwhelming amount of feelings he was currently feeling, or about the way his name sounded when Jimin said it, or the way his head fit perfectly on his chest. He wasn't even thinking about the way his insides were slowly roasting from a fire that was roaring somewhere deep within. A fire whose flames licked every inch of his insides, spreading warmth into the apples of his cheeks and to all 10 of his toes. The heat of Jimin’s body coaxed the cold, that had been settled there for a while, right out of Yoongi, and Yoongi held him, while thinking maybe, just maybe, tomorrow he’d be able to hold him like this too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always come talk to me @ my [tumblr](http://babe-hyun.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
